Mary, Full of Grace
by Elise Montgomery
Summary: At one point everyone in Biloxi knew the story of Mary Alice Brandon... This is the story of the girl Alice Cullen used to be. Pre-Twilight, Canon.
1. Prologue

A lot of love and thanks go out to my betas, Beth and Sarah, for being so unbelievably fuck-awesome.

Mucho amor para las mujeres en el doble-u; ustedes son el viento debajo de mis alas.

Stephenie Meyer owns the Twilight characters and all that jazz. I own Franny, the Biloxi crew, and a cup of cheesecake ice cream from Cold Stone.

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**Prologue**

**August 2005**

Lots of people have never heard of Pearlington, Mississippi. It's a tiny place**,** not too far from Biloxi**,** with only a thousand residents. It doesn't even have a mayor to call its own, a fact eighty-five**-**year**-**old Franny Marchland was pissed off mighty fine about. "Not even a mayor," she'd mutter from time to time. "Not a damn city official."

Hardly anybody ever passed through Pearlington either, the town was that dead. Most of her days, Franny had nothing to do, so she would sit out on her porch for hours, where she kept the old rocking chair her late husband had built for her**.** She had nursed all six of her children in that rocker and could never bear to part with it**,** even when its white paint peeled**,** revealing the unfinished splintering wood beneath. Next to the chair she kept an old folding table, just big enough to hold her favorite glass pitcher, whatever book she was reading, and her glasses. She never complained, not out loud, but honestly? She was bored almost to death.

If she were younger, Franny would get someone to drive her to the shore to eat at the crab shack or maybe go to one of the fancy casinos that had taken over the Mississippi coast like weeds. _Yes, that would be nice._ Franny would paint up her lips red, put lotion on her lightly tanned skin, and pinch her cheeks 'til they blushed something fierce. _Forty years ago, maybe. _Now there were wrinkles instead of blushes, varicose veins instead of fishnets, and when John died…well, she was young at heart, but her heart didn't feel so young anymore. That's why Franny was going through her days**,** resigned nothing exciting would happen to her anymore. Then she met _him_.

He appeared out of nowhere near the end of dusk, standing at the edge of an overgrown field across from her house._ I heard him approaching_, Franny told herself later, but truthfully all she remembered was pouring herself some sweet tea and, when she looked up, there he was. He was young, twenty perhaps, about six feet tall and wearing a white collared shirt and blue jeans. He was light-skinned, paler than anybody from around Pearlington. A large cowboy hat sat on his head, covering his face. _Definitely not from Pearlington_, Franny thought. She could tell he was looking at her, though. She blinked a few times and then, when she saw he wasn't moving, crossed her legs at the ankle.

"If you're fittin' to rob someone**,**" she yelled, "you've got the wrong house. I don't have not a penny."

The young man shook his head. "Ma'am, I would never do such a thing." Though he was yelling a bit so she could hear, his voice was rich, southern, old. This young man, Franny mused, didn't sound like he watched CW or whatever the daggone kids liked to watch these days. He had manners. "I'm not here to cause any trouble**,**" he finished.

"Well, if you're looking for a hot date, you've _definitely_ got the wrong house**,**" she mused quietly. The young man took a step forward**,** then changed his mind and took the same step back. Fanny quirked an eyebrow and took a moment to sip from her glass. She had finished half of it and the man still hadn't said anything else. _Someone's awfully quiet._

"Are you going to tell me what you want or are you just gonna wait 'til I get more wrinkles?" She set down her glass. "I get them awful quick these days."

"I was just wondering…are you Francine Coutu?"

Now this was a bit of a shock to her. "Francine…I always hated that name." Franny smacked her lips and cocked her head. She wanted the man to come closer so she could see him. "No one here knows me as Francine Coutu."

The young man nodded and took a step closer. This time he didn't move back. "You used to live in Biloxi, correct?"

There was a pause. "Who did you say you were again?"

"I didn't say who I was." Franny already knew he hadn't and she pursed her lips.

"Ma'am, I just wanted to know-**-**"

"Who are you?" Franny cut him off in an agitated tone. She was surprised by her own discomfort and pressed her lips together. The silence was deafening; not even birds could be heard.

The stranger adjusted the hat on his head and took another step. His mouth began to move, almost as if deciding on a name, Franny mused. He set his shoulders back and clasped his hands. "My name is Jasper."

"Now that wasn't so hard**,** was it?" The old woman wrinkled her nose and leaned back in her rocker. "What's with the hat, Jasper?"

The question seemed to throw the young man off and, after a moment, he let out a laugh. "It is a bit much, isn't it?" He didn't move to take it off**,** regardless.

Franny gave a grumble and put her hand on her hip, though she was sitting. "Where did you come from anyway? I take it you didn't walk all the way here."

"I've been looking for you."

"Yeah, I figured that part out. The question is_ why_ you've been looking for me."

At this, Jasper seemed to frown. "Because you're from Biloxi and I think you knew my…I think you knew my family."

Franny's lips pursed. She knew a lot of families, that was true. But she didn't know the man standing in front of her, not one bit.

The young man hesitated a moment before walking across the road and standing at the edge of Franny's porch steps. His hands twitched, as if he wanted to climb up her steps to get closer. He didn't.

"I was wondering if you remember the Brandon family."

Franny's breath caught and she felt her chest constrict. She wheezed a bit and gulped the remainder of her glass, coughing and sputtering until the sticky syrup at the bottom coated her throat.

"Oh**,** my." She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. Jasper hadn't moved from his spot.

"Are you alright?" he finally asked.

Franny nodded and closed her eyes for a brief minute. _The Brandons._ Memories came to her, flickering like an old TV set, with the images feathered around the edges. Some of them were of a family, some of a white house just out of the heart of town, a few even of a little girl smiling. But most of them…most of them were of her.

"You want to know about Mary."

Jasper stiffened at this, his spine going ramrod straight. Franny could see him better now; he was pale, translucent and glowing, his lips set in a thin line, a bit of blond hair peeking out from his hat. He spoke before she could note further. "How did you-**-**"

"If it wasn't about Mary, you would have searched the records or asked the family themselves. Cynthia's daughter, Merna, still lives in Biloxi**,** but I doubt Cynthia ever breathed a word to anyone about her sister. You know, I used to get a postcard from Cynthia every Christmas until she died of cancer…" She trailed off before taking a deep breath. "No one talks about Mary. Not anymore."

"But you will," Jasper amended. Franny paused for a moment**,** trying to decide if the young man was threatening her. Deciding he was just being persistent, she sighed.

"I suppose I could tell you the Brandons and my family were neighbors. When I got older, I even took care of their little one—that was Cynthia. I left when she was twelve though…" She stopped to clear her throat. "I was ten years younger than Mary, so truthfully I don't know much."

"Can you tell me what you do know?"

Franny motioned to the front door of her house. "Why don't we go inside?" The young man slowly shook his head. _He must be tired if he walked from town…_ She asked again and Jasper refused once more, seeming to plant his feet firmer on the ground. _He's not tired?_

"Please, ma'am," Jasper pleaded. "Just tell me what you know about her."

"Okay," she finally said.

Franny leaned back in her chair once more and rocked herself slowly. She took her time remembering; She wanted to get it right and the young man at her stoop seemed to be in no rush. Ten minutes later, she began to speak.

"At one point**,** everyone in Biloxi knew the story of Mary Alice Brandon. She was Marianne and Jimmy's oldest child, born in the fall of 1910. She was a tiny little thing, shorter than I am now. She had jet black hair that went down past her shoulders and I was told her mama brushed it until it shone. She had these stunning grey eyes that were too big for her head." Franny placed her hands over her eyes, mimicking goggles**,** and began to laugh. "Personally, I remember she was an excitable one, always seeming to keep something childlike about her even when most of us were dying to grow up." Franny's laughter faded and a sad smile spread across her lips.

"Things weren't right with her, though. It wasn't anything you could see right away," she clarified, shaking her head, "but something was just never right with her. She was smart enough, don't get me wrong. She wasn't like the Thomas boy who was dumber than a box of rocks. It was just that sometimes, Lord as my witness, sometimes Mary would look at you and she was seeing _through_ you. One time she made Christopher Liddell cry, she scared him so much. Things like that made people talk. They said awful things."

Jasper leaned in a little, his indifferent mask falling away to curiosity. "What sort of things?"

"She brainwashed people." Franny played nervously with the hem of her dress. She cocked her head to the side suddenly. "That's what they said anyway. A part of me knows it's nothin' but crazy talk but another part of me wondered. Her eyes, son, they saw through you. Saw things no one else was seeing. I always had a sense of that and it's probably why I remember her. I've got ex-lovers I can't recall a lick about, but Mary…she's too special to be lost. I know that truth in my bones." Franny stopped to pour some more tea. She silently offered her glass to Jasper but he just shook his head.

"So what happened to her?"

"Oh, that poor girl!" Franny exclaimed in response to his question. She put her glass back down and pressed her hands together. "Apparently she started having these seizures when she was about eight and she stayed so weak and frail because of them. She wasn't able to leave the house much; her mama didn't let her outta her sight. Right after her seventeenth birthday, she caught pneumonia and died not more than a week later." Franny felt that familiar constricting of her chest she felt whenever she thought back to Mary's death and held her hands tightly together.

"Pneumonia?"

"Pneumonia. That's what my mama told me. Mary's parents were heartbroken and I barely saw them for a while. Then, six years later, they had Cynthia and things seemed all right again. That's all I know about Mary." The older woman wound her story down abruptly. The silence lingered between the two strangers until Franny looked up to see the first stars beginning to come out.

"You must want to get inside." Jasper followed her gaze to the sky.

"I am getting a bit tired. You'll understand when you're my age."

Jasper opened his mouth to say something**,** then seemed to think better of it. He tried again a minute later.

"Francine-**-**"

"**-**-Franny."

"Franny. Thank you for telling me the story."

Franny nodded and stood up from her rocking chair, grasping the arms. She grabbed her pitcher and turned around to walk in her door. _Give him _something_, Franny. He's been waiting..._

The glass pitcher fell on the wooden porch**,** making an awful racket. Franny didn't pay it any mind, turning as quickly as she could to look at the young man again.

"Jasper?" He was still at the stoop and lifted his head slightly at the sound of his name. She could see his eyes now. They shone as the dusk settled in around them; gold, amber, topaz…Franny let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"You called it a story and I think you're right." The words rushed out. "I don't think there were no seizures, no pneumonia. I don't know the whole truth but everyone only thought they knew the story of Mary Alice Brandon. I don't think we knew nothing at all." Franny took a deep breath and squeezed her hands into fists.

More silence.

He finally spoke, his voice soft and pained. "Were her eyes really grey?"

"They were. Jasper, she was so beautiful."

The young man gave a smile then, a real one that made Franny's heart beat a little faster. "Thank you, Ma'am," he said. "You gave me more than I was hoping to find."

With a slight tip of his hat, he turned and walked away, going up the road**;** towards what**,** Franny didn't know. She waited until he was just a flicker on the horizon before turning around. She quickly stepped over the shards of glass and shuffled through her door, closing it behind her. She didn't bother going to her bedside; instead she dropped to her knees right in her foyer and began reciting the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Apostle's Creed and any string of words she could remember from Sunday school. She ignored the ache in her knees and the sharp pain in her hips because, Lord, she finally had an answer.

_A young girl was leaning against the porch railing, head resting on her arms, her grey eyes glazed over. "Fran," she whispered. "He's waiting for me to turn his eyes to gold."_

"_Who is?"_

"_I don't know his name but...he'd wait for me, wouldn't he? For a little while?"_

_Oh, Mary. Jasper would wait forever for you. _

Franny now knew that truth in her bones.

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**A/N: **

Now we get to the nitty gritty; a look back at how Mary Alice Brandon came into existence and how she, eventually, becomes Alice Cullen.

The next chapter won't include Franny or Jasper at all (womp womp) but they'll be back, I assure you.

Reviews are better than a glass of Franny's sweet tea.


	2. Love Me and the World is Mine

I have to give oodles of love to my beta-bees, Sareeswfla and Betham for being so damn kickass. Hugs to my UU Brigade who rock so hard they actually want me to drunk dial them about Purina dog food.

SMeyer owns Mary Alice Brandon. I own the Tanglewood folks, Franny, a pitcher of lemonade, and some ice cream. I have more in this chapter but somehow SMeyer still wins the game.

**Warning:** This chapter contains a graphic sexual scene in which not all parties are consensual. Use your discretion.

Without further ado, here is the first chapter. Enjoy.

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In 1909 there existed a two-story French colonial-style home at 355 Tanglewood Drive. It was mostly white, with a beautiful wraparound porch that sat on a brick foundation. The house had lay dormant for months after its previous owners had up and left for Tennessee. Edith didn't think much of it, not until the day she looked out her window to find a flurry of activity next door. Men were carrying cabinets and chairs, rolled up rugs and bags of clothing. Edith raised an eyebrow an amusement. She leaned out her bedroom window and whistled to catch the attention of one of the men. "Hey! What's going on down there?"

"New neighbors!" The man gave a grunt and went inside, a box perched on his shoulder.

New people weren't anything…well…_new_ in Biloxi but no one had moved to Tanglewood since the Lopez's five years prior. Edith squealed in excitement, grabbed her jacket, and ran downstairs. Once outside, she stood at the edge of her lawn and peered over to 355. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a young woman she could see through the window.

The woman was pacing back and forth, occasionally reaching out to grab something and then standing back when she was denied whatever she was holding her arms out for. She had her dark hair pulled into a bun, and her dress was loose. After dropping her shoulders and brushing her hair from her eyes, she marched out the door and over to the pile of items cluttering the yard. Edith gave a gasp when she realized the woman was pregnant and another when the woman tried to lift a large chest on her own.

"You shouldn't be doing that!" Edith yelled.

The woman dropped the chest in surprise and looked up.

Edith ran over and stopped just short of running into the woman. She clapped her hands together and let out a squeal. "What's your name?"

"Marianne," the woman answered slowly.

"I s'pose you're the new neighbor? It's a pleasure to meet you but you're damn near ready to pop, so you shouldn't be lifting heavy things, and it's too hot for you to be walking around in the first place. Come, come, we'll have tea and you'll tell me all about yourself."

Edith grabbed Marianne's elbow and led her toward the house next door without another word.

Edith Coutu was a peculiar woman, albeit well-liked by anyone who knew her. She was always excited, talkative, and on many days, her peals of laughter could be heard throughout the street. No one quite knew what she was; most guessed Cajun on account of the accent and the name, but some people could have sworn she came from the Caribbean, perhaps Europe. She had short brown hair, much shorter than was in style in Mississippi those days, and tanned skin that almost hid the sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was in her late twenties and had been married but her husband had died back in 1903 in a boating accident off the Gulf Coast. Edith had decided to keep the house and live alone ("Convention be damned!"), spending the rest of her days running errands for folks, babysitting, or acting as midwife to those with child. She also seemed to always have a pitcher of sweet tea or lemonade in her kitchen, something folks were grateful for on hot August days like the one Marianne had moved in on.

Edith ushered Marianne past the foyer and into an overstuffed chair in her sitting room. She grabbed an empty glass and her pitcher off the kitchen table and poured her new neighbor a glass of sweet tea. "Here, you go, dear. You must be hotter than the Devil's tail." She watched the young woman take a sip and then gulp half the glass. "It's good, ain't it? I'm Edith, by the way. Edith Coutu."

"Marianne Brandon."

Edith took Marianne's glass from her and set it on the small side table near the couch. She sat down on the chair closest to Mary Ann and smiled. "The whole neighborhood's just been so excited about the new people comin' in. They'll be plumb-tickled when they realize you're having a baby." She glanced warmly at Marianne's tummy. "Is that your first?"

"Oh yes." Marianne blushed. "I think it's going to be a boy."

Edith squinted for a moment and then nodded. "It is definitely a boy."

Marianne let out a laugh. "How can you tell?"

"The way you're carryin' it. I've been a midwife so long, I bet I could guess sex the day after conception."

"Do you have any children of your own?"

Edith smiled as the young woman glanced around the room, likely trying to catch sight of anything child-like. "My husband died before we got to have any."

"Oh." Marianne touched Edith's arm lightly. "I am so sorry to hear that."

"It's alright; it was a long time ago." Edith paused and pulled lightly on the fringe of her hair. "You know, if you're needing a midwife, I'd be happy to help you when your time comes." Edith was happy to have changed the topic as she watched Marianne's face light up.

The two talked about everything under the sun, from baking, to flowers, to what songs they fancied. Most of the talk lingered on the neighbours.

"You've probably already heard about the Pleasants, I reckon." Edith smiled at Marianne's enthusiastic nod. "They're a hardworking family and we mighty proud to have them here, confederates be damned!"

Marianne smiled. "I heard about the Lopez's too. I think it's wonderful."

"Wonderful or not, I should warn you about the DeWitt's. They have twelve children, the youngest being around two years old now."

"Well, what's odd about that?"

"Mr. DeWitt is sixty-five." Edith laughed. "'Poor Mrs. DeWitt' is a regular saying around here."

Their laughter was cut short when someone knocked on the door. "Marianne?"

Edith opened the front door and saw a man she had never seen before.

"Oh, Jimmy!" Marianne exclaimed behind her.

Jimmy Brandon was a handsome man and the smug smile on his lips assured Edith he knew this. He had black hair that was long on the top and a clean-shaven face. His eyes were grey and he had dimples when he smiled. Edith felt her lips part into a grin and she gave a nervous laugh. She smiled as Jimmy mockingly chastised his wife.

"I leave you alone for a few moments and you go bothering the neighbours." Marianne gave a sheepish smile and turned to address Edith. "This is my husband, although I'm sure you've figured that out."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brandon" Edith reached out her hand and, when Jimmy grabbed it, she felt her grin widen. "Would you like some tea, Mr. Brandon?"

"Call me Jimmy, if you please."

The three went back inside Edith's home and she poured each of them a glass. Edith and Marianne resumed their talk, but Jimmy drank silently, giving Edith a gentle smile at all times. When his glass was empty, Jimmy set his glass on the table and gestured to the door. "We really should be going, dear. We still have matters to attend to and I believe we've inconvenienced Mrs. Coutu enough."

"It's _Miss_ Coutu." Edith cleared her throat and smiled at Marianne. "It's no inconvenience at all. You're welcome here anytime."

###

Edith didn't consider herself much of a gardener, but she had luck with flowers nonetheless; azaleas, lavender and marigolds peppered her backyard. She loved the view from the kitchen and would often leave the house through the backdoor just so she could touch the blossoms as she left to run errands. Every Saturday she cut a few blooms for her kitchen table and sometimes for her friends as well. "It's a little something to brighten up your home," she said.

She was working in her garden when Paul DeWitt dropped by. He knew to find her in the backyard.

Paul was the oldest of the DeWitts, save for his father, Bill, and Edith had always thought he was a charming boy. He was a spitting image of his dad, from the red hair, to the green eyes, to the bump in his nose. He worked the on the docks sorting out the catch of the day which meant he always smelled a little like fish, no matter how much he tried to scrub the scent off.

Paul crouched next to Edith and gave her a shy smile.

"Hello. I-I-I- I came to see if perhaps I could help you with something." Edith smiled at how tongue-tied he seemed to be.

"Ah, offering to help an old lady out, hmm?"

"No! Well, I mean I am. I mean I'm not. You're not old," he finished quietly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brown envelope. "I got you these."

She took the brown enveloped gingerly and examined it in the sunlight. They were rose seeds.

"Oh, Paul."

"I figured it was better than giving you flowers. I mean flowers that were already cut." The young man coughed. "Er, if you need help planting those…"

Edith felt warm at his gesture and reached out to pat his arm. "You're a sweet boy, Paul."

"I'm not a boy," He cut in quickly. "I'm not a boy at all." Paul stood up quickly and brushed his hair from his face.

Edith sighed as Paul ran off.

Several minutes later, as she was pruning her azaleas, a shadow fell over her.

"Forget something, Paul?"

"Who's Paul?" She shielded her eyes with her hands and looked up.

Jimmy Brandon was standing over her, holding her cast iron skillet.

"Come to clobber me, huh?" Edith quipped.

Jimmy raised an eyebrow then looked down at his hand. When he saw the skillet, he began to laugh. Edith had never heard his laughter before; it was low and gravelly, sending a small tingle up her fingers to her chest. She found herself reaching out to touch him then swiftly pulled her hand back. James cleared his throat and held out the skillet.

"Marianne asked me to return this to you and to thank you for teaching her how to make corn bread. It was very good."

Edith smiled and took the skillet out of his hand. "It was my pleasure."

The sun was bearing down on them and Edith brushed a bead of sweat off her forehead. She stood up and gestured to the house. "Would you like a glass of lemonade before you go back? It's mighty warm out and, though I knew you just live right next door, you still came all this way..."

Jimmy hesitated but Edith didn't give him a chance to say no. "I'll be right back with a glass!"

She was inside the house and already taking glasses out of the cupboard when James walked into her kitchen.

Edith paused and nervously rubbed her hands on her apron. "You came inside," was all she said.

"I hope it's not a bother. I just thought I'd save you the trouble of having to go back outside," he said.

Edith nodded once and then turned around to scoop some ice from the ice box. A blush ran across her face and an odd feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. She shouldn't have a married man alone in her kitchen.

_Nonsense, I had Bill DeWitt in the kitchen just last week._

_Yes, but he was just borrowing sugar and he's almost as old as the Holy Grail. _

Edith shook her head to clear her thoughts and set the chipped ice on a tray on the table. She grabbed her pitcher of lemonade from the counter it had been sitting out on. "This has been out a bit so it'll need plenty-" She gasped when she felt something cold against the back of her neck. She hadn't seen Jimmy pick up the piece of ice; he was running it gently up and down the nape of her neck.

"Jimmy?"

"You seemed warm." He lifted his hand from her neck. Edith felt the water drip down the back of her collar and follow the gentle curve of her spine. She gave an involuntary shiver. "Jimmy," she repeated. "We should maintain a certain level of formality between us. I know you understand."

Jimmy silently stepped back and tossed the piece of ice onto the table. He let out a low chuckle. "Then I supposed you should let me _formally_ invite you to my home."  
"Excuse me?" Edith turned around and realized Jimmy was wearing a smirk on his face.

"Marianne and I are having a bit of a soirée the day after tomorrow to get to know our new neighbours." He rocked back onto his heels.

Edith swiped roughly at the back of her neck. The cool of the ice was quickly replaced with the heat of her hand.

"We'd like you to come," Jimmy finished. "Will you?"

_Absolutely not, _she thought.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she said.

James gave a smile. "Then it's settled." He gave her a wave and made his way out the back door. Edith let out a sharp exhale and sank down into the nearest chair, rubbing the back of her neck. The coolness was completely gone now. Something felt off but looking around the kitchen held no answers. The only thing out of place was the tray of ice melting rapidly on the table.

###

Everyone seemed to be at the Brandon's home two days later: Elizabeth and Cormack Liddell, Carolynn and Kent Thomas, the eight oldest members of the DeWitt family, and Missy and Terrence Pleasants were all in the sitting room when Edith arrived. Marianne gave her a huge smile and rushed forward to envelop her in a hug. "Oh, I am so glad you made it! You look gorgeous."

Edith had worn a long sage colored princess-cut dress with brown trim. Marianne was dressed in a pink gown that reached mid-calf.

"It's two different dresses I sewed together," Marianne whispered in Edith's ear while pointing at herself.

Edith laughed and grasped her friend's hands. "Well, it looks absolutely darling on you."

"Edith." Jimmy was standing behind his wife, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "It means so much to us that you decided to spend the evening with us." His grey eyes seemed to be sparkling. Edith swiftly averted her gaze and cleared her throat.

"Thank you," she answered quickly. "I better get to greetin' the other guests."

The party started off with lively discussion over cigarettes and brandy. At some point Paul leaned over and told Edith she looked lovely which made everyone whoop and holler. Edith was grateful when someone chose that exact moment to put on the phonograph. A lively number started up and Missy brought the conversation to halt by letting out a cheer and grabbing her husband's arm.

"Terry, I love this song! Let's dance!" Missy clapped her hands and grabbed her husband.

Following suit, Paul bowed down in front of Edith and extended his hand. "If I may have this dance, Ma'am?"

"Oh, why not?" Edith laughed and stood up. The two spun out into the living room floor and were soon joined by the rest of the guests. When a slow song came on two songs later, Edith excused herself from Paul and took a seat on a large wingback chair. She was slowly fanning herself when she felt eyes on her.

Jimmy and Marianne were close together, rocking from side to side. Jimmy was mouthing the words from the songs but instead of looking at his wife, he was staring at Edith intensely.

_I care not for the stars that shine,_

_I dare not hope to ever be thine_

_I only know I love you_

_Love me and the world is mine._

The heat crawled over her body slowly, resting just between her legs. She pressed her lips together and pretended to be fascinated by the hem of her dress.

When the song finished, Edith got up and walked over to the couple. She tapped Marianne lightly on the shoulder without looking at Jimmy.

"I'm sorry to run out on such a lovely party but I think I'll be going now."

Marianne frowned and placed her hand on Edith's arm. "Why, dear?"

_Because I can't stop thinking about your husband._

"I'm starting to feel a little out of sorts. I may have underestimated the effects of the brandy." She forced out a sigh.

"Darling," Jimmy interjected while placing his hand on Marianne's shoulder, "Edith should go home if she's not feeling well."

Marianne bit her bottom lip and then gave a small nod. Edith exhaled in relief. She quickly kissed the other women on the cheek, waved goodbye to the men, and grabbed her shawl.

She was already down the porch steps when she heard the door open and close behind her.

"Marianne didn't want you walking home alone."

"I live next door, Jimmy."

"I know."

Edith didn't bother turning around. She walked quickly to her front door and unlocked it. She heard Jimmy follow her inside and she huffed. "I'm home now."

A light touch ran across her shoulders. "That's exactly how I feel." Jimmy's voice was low in her ears and it reminded her of honey. She sighed and leaned her head back. She felt his lips skim across her jaw and the soft touch made the space between her legs ache.

"Want to know something? The first time I saw you I thought you were the most beautiful thing…" His right hand stayed on her neck while his left started caressing her side.

When his hands wandered across her stomach, Edith's eyes flew open and she abruptly pulled away.

"Your wife is pregnant." She blurted out and took a few more steps back. "We can't do this."

Jimmy shook his head and held out his hands. "I don't lo-"

"Don't say that!" Edith fought to keep her voice down but the panic was winning out. "Don't you dare start thinkin' like that, Jimmy. It' ain't right. It ain't right for you to even be in here right now and if anyone were to see you here I'd never be ale to show my face around here. And think of what it would do to Marianne!"

Jimmy placed a finger on her lips to shush her. "You're beautiful."

Edith grabbed the hand against her face with both of hers. She placed a kiss on his palm before lowering it to his side. "If we stop here, there's nothing to hide," she said.

Jimmy groaned and pulled his hand away. "Is this it then, Edith?"

Edith opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find the words. Instead she nodded once; it was all she had strength to do.

He stared at her for a few moments and then quickly turned around. "I'm sorry if I did anything untoward, Ms. Coutu." He opened the door and walked it, closing it silently behind him.

Edith walked over to the door and locked it, leaning her forehead against the frame. _I did the right thing,_ she thought. Yet somewhere between her ribs she felt a hollow space and she couldn't help but wonder if it belonged to the man that had just walked out her door.

###

Things seemed fine again for a while. Edith was at the Brandons' house nearly every day at Marianne's request and, while she mostly avoided Jimmy, she put on a good show when he was around. She smiled at the right times, laughed at the right times, and nodded when spoken to. She never let herself look into his eyes or crave the warmth of his breath ghosting over her skin. Sometimes she felt his gaze linger on her a moment too long. Once he quickly ran his fingertips across her hand while handing her a dish during another dinner party. It startled her so much she nearly dropped the gumbo. She laughed it off, explaining she had weak wrists. Paul had instantly grabbed the dish and taken a moment to examine Edith's hands. Everyone smiled warmly at the display except Jimmy; Edith noticed he frowned and looked away.

###

It was a warm September night when Edith was awoken by the loud banging on her front door. At first she thought a storm had rolled in; she reached out her window to close the shutters but noticed it was clear out. Suddenly knowing what the knocks meant, she threw on her housecoat. "I'm a-comin'," she hollered, grabbing a large carpet bag out of her closet and running towards the foyer. When she threw open her front door, Jimmy nearly fell in. He looked haggard and panicked, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His usually neat hair was sticking up in all directions, most of it falling into his eyes.

"The baby is coming," he rasped out.

Edith pushed past him and ran down the porch steps and onto the sidewalk. She was nearly to the house when she realized Jimmy wasn't following. She looked back and saw him still leaning against her door.

"Jimmy!" She yelled. "Do you want to see your baby boy or not?" That seemed to wake him up and he rushed to catch up with her.

Before they even made it to the Brandons' door they could hear the screams. "Oh! Oh God, help me!"

Edith ran inside and looked around. "How long has it been?"

Jimmy blinked a few times and Edith shook his shoulder. "Focus, Jimmy. When did she start going into labor?"

"I don't know. Not long. I went to get Mrs. Liddell immediately …" Edith began climbing up the stairs, turning briefly to hold her hand up. "You wait here. You ain't gonna be much help up there." Edith continued up the stairs and into the bedroom.

Mrs. Liddell was indeed there, wiping Marianne's brow and whispering soothing words. She saw Edith and let out a shaky breath. "Thank goodness you're here."

Edith put down her bag, walked over to the bed and took a peek underneath the sheet laid over Marianne's legs. She was much farther along than Edith expected.

"Elizabeth, how long have you been here?"

"Ten minutes, perhaps, but it wasn't this bad when I got here."

Edith nodded. "This is going to be a fast birth, like Missy's second one." The two women took turns wiping the sweat of Marianne's brow and whispering encouraging words. Marianne never stopped her screaming. Two hours later, Edith felt under the sheet again.

"Elizabeth, she's close. You'll have to help me get her standin'."

The two women each grabbed one of Marianne's arms and eased her into sitting up.

"I can't!" she sobbed. "I can't stand. It hurts too much!"

"The gravity helps, honey," Elizabeth explained while smoothing the younger woman's hair. "Come now and try to stand."

Marianne managed to sit up but then suddenly began screaming and writhing on the bed. Elizabeth paled and grabbed her shoulders. Edith let go of Marianne altogether and settled down at the foot of the bed. "Forget the standing," she yelled over Marianne. "The baby needs to come out now."

"Edith, is the baby breached? Missy's births weren't this bad, neither was Carolynn's…"

Edith didn't say anything. Her hands were under the sheets, her eyes closed. She felt the baby and knew it was time.

"Push, Marianne!"

Marianne shook her head. "I can't. I can't. Please just help me."

"Damn it, I can't do a thing if you don't help me get this baby out of you!" Suddenly Edith felt something brush her fingertips. "That's it, dear, push!"

"You're doing brilliantly," Elizabeth cooed.

Marianne locked her knees and gave a loud cry. A few moments later, it was over. Edith looked down at her arms and let out a shaky breath. "You're done, honey," Edith said quietly.

Marianne gave a deep sigh and fell back against the pillows. "Oh, thank the lord." She gave a weak smiled and looked over at Edith. "Is it a boy, Edith? Or do I have a little girl?" Edith looked up at Marianne then. There were tears in her eyes; she felt them roll down her cheeks and past her mouth. She slowly shook her head.

It was a boy. It _had been_ a boy. Edith couldn't see until it was out that the baby was a sickly shade of blue or that it's eyes were wide open and glossy. She tried to say something, anything, but her throat felt raw. It was Elizabeth who let out a sob and said the words no mother wants to hear. "I am so sorry."

Marianne began mumbling something under her breath. Her whimpers grew louder until they were agonizing screams. Neither woman even tried to console her.

Edith felt someone to her right and looked up. Jimmy stood in the doorway for a few minutes, his eyes only on the tiny figure in her hands. He walked over, ignoring his wife's cries, and gingerly took the dead boy into his arms.

"Please leave us," he said quietly.

Elizabeth nodded and fled quickly. Edith lingered, pausing to wipe her hands on the bed sheets and then again to grab her things. She gave Marianne a kiss on the forehead; the woman had stopped screaming and was now whimpering again.

Edith turned to Jimmy. "If either of you need anything at all..."

"Just leave."

Edith nodded and left the house at 355 Tanglewood broken.

###

There was both a baptism and a burial for James Brandon II. Edith attended the latter, wrapping her arms around the grieving mother upon her arrival. Nearly all the neighborhood women were present, stuffed into Biloxi's small cemetery, and offering their own kind of encouragement. "I lost my first," Sis LeMaine said, "and I have three little ones now."

Missy nodded. "The Lord has his plans, don't He?" The woman agreed gravely. Who wanted to go against the Lord, after all?

After the funeral, Marianne didn't leave the house as much as she used to, and Jimmy was rarely seen. Edith still kept her ritual of going over to the Brandon house for lunch and made sure the young woman was taking care of herself. Some days she would make hot tea for the pair and others she'd bring over her big iron pot and make grits or chowder. For two months they would eat in an uncomfortable silence, neither woman quite knowing what to say.

"Where's Jimmy been?" Edith asked one day in November.

"Working," Marianne answered quietly. It was the most she'd spoken since the funeral.

It wasn't anything specific that caused a change; Marianne was simply pouring herself a glass of lemonade, as she had many times before, when she broke down and started to sob. Edith was in shock for a moment but quickly put down her own glass and pulled Marianne's head into her lap. "There, there, _cherie_." She began soothing back her hair. "It takes time but this too shall pass. You'll be ready to try for another child in no time."

"It's not only about the baby, Edith. I failed as a mother and now I'm failing as a wife." Marianne took a deep breath and sat up slowly. "I just can't do this anymore, Edith. Jimmy is like a ghost these days. He's never home and when he is… He touches my arm or kisses my cheek and I immediately start to cry."

Edith nodded and pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket, offering it to Marianne. "Your husband is dealing with the grief in his own way. Everyone does. He'll come around and things will be right as rain, you'll see."

"He can't come around, Edith. He's just a ghost." Marianne whispered.

It was the second day of the new year when Edith was visited by that very ghost. She had heard a noise, and after putting on her housecoat and grabbing her heaviest pan, peeked through the glass frame on her back door.

"Edith?" This ghost knew her by name.

Edith put down her frying pan and flung her back door open. Jimmy was standing at the edge of her azalea garden, jacket folded over his arm. He looked pale in the moonlight, much paler than she had ever seen. "Jimmy? What are you doing here?" She rushed down her porch steps and stood at the stoop. The dark of the night made it seem reasonable to whisper. "Jimmy, is something wrong? Is it Marianne?"

He took his hat off and tossed it to the ground next to him. "Everything seems wrong, Edith. We're supposed to be celebrating and…everything seems wrong." He took a step closer to her and she could see the dark circles under his eyes. His shirt was undone in two places and untucked. He looked like he hadn't shaven in days.

Edith walked down her steps and walked over until she was two feet away from him. She tightened her coat and then gestured inside the house.

"Jimmy, it's freezing out here. Come inside and we can talk about what's bothering you."

"I'm not sure what to do…You said that if I needed anything…"

Edith nodded and clucked her tongue. "Why yes, I did, and I meant it. This is a horrible time for the both of you and if there's anything I could do, I -"

Jimmy suddenly lunged forward and placed his hands on the sides of Edith's face. He pressed his lips hungrily to hers. He wasn't kind or gentle in his kisses, just desperate. Edith struggled in his hands and tried pushing herself away. She began to panic when she felt herself falling backwards. James pulled his lips away and began biting his way down her neck.

"Jimmy, stop this nonsense. Your wife-" A firm hand covered her mouth. She was on the ground now with James moving on top of her, flipping up the bottom of her coat and nightdress. She heard rather than saw him unfasten his pants, his free hand pressed to her mouth the entire time.

_Please,_ she thought, _not like this_.

But it was like that.

Edith gave a high-pitched cry when he pushed into her, rough and unyielding. It felt like she was ripping in two at her most private seam. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to think of something, anything.** Please please please**. She could feel insects, ants maybe, crawling across her ankle and something scratching her neck. She could smell the faint scent of azaleas, the closest bloom just inches from her nose, and the stink of sweat from the man on top of her. She could hear the Dicketts' tomcat meowing near the trashcans and the grunts coming from somewhere above her. James was mumbling something quickly; it sounded like a prayer that mirrored hers. **Please please please…**

The entire incident lasted only a few minutes. Jimmy gave two final thrusts and collapsed, spent and trembling, on top of Edith. She stayed still for a while, opening her eyes just in time to see him stand up. He fastened his pants and grabbed his jacket and hat from the ground.

"Edith," he whispered, "I'm so sorry." He had begun to cry.

Edith cut him off by sitting up, grabbing the nearest item, a rock, and hurling it at his head. It missed him by near centimeters. She grabbed another one. "You get off my property right now or I swear I won't miss."

"Edith…" His hands hovered over her body.

"Two seconds." Her voice wasn't as shaky as she felt.

James frowned but nodded. "I'm so sorry," he repeated and stalked away quickly, cutting through the Dicketts' yard to the street.

Edith dropped the rock and got up on shaky legs. She ran into the house, locking the doors and shutters behind her.

The next morning, Edith wanted to pretend nothing had happened. She got dressed, pinned her hair, pulled on her gardening gloves and went out to trim her prized flowers. When the smell of the azaleas hit her nose, however, she suddenly became sick and found herself into heaving over the flower beds, a sickly white froth spilling from her mouth and sinking into the ground.

"Oh God," she sputtered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She didn't think twice and began snapping at the bushes wildly with her shears. An hour later the bushes were nothing but twigs and blossoms littering the sidewalk. When Edith looked up from throwing the last bits into the pile, Missy Pleasant was standing across the street staring curiously at her. She held up a hand, making Edith wait, while she crossed the street.

"Edith," she said, gently, "what have you done to your flowers?"

Edith shrugged and waved her hand dismissively. "It's time for something new in my garden, Missy. Maybe some roses, you know?" A wind picked up then and scattered some of blossoms down the street. Edith watched them float away and then ran inside her house without another word.

The nausea returned three weeks later, a powerful churn that not even her mama's chicken soup could calm. She didn't think much of it, choosing to blame bad food or perhaps a grippe going around. It was when she was taking a bath two weeks after that she noticed the slight paunch of her belly. She counted backwards over and over until she was sure she couldn't be wrong. She instantly drained the large clawed tub and dressed herself slowly, mechanically, only vaguely noticing the flash of colors as she pulled cloth over her skin. She climbed down her stairs, went out her front door, and walked up the street. When she reached the house, it took her ten minutes to force herself to knock.

"Edith!" Marianne exclaimed. The younger woman gave her a lingering hug and inhaled deeply. "I haven't seen you around here in so long! Come on come in." Edith let herself be pulled into the home and began sliding off her coat. She handed it to Marianne who smiled and pushed her toward the sitting room.

"Jimmy, look who's come to visit!"

"It's not Aunt Gertrude, is it?" Jimmy was sitting on the plush wingback chair, reading the Biloxi Herald, but looking toward the door with a sly smile on his face. When he saw Edith, his face dropped and he moved to get up.

"Oh," Edith said with a shaky laugh, "Don't move on account of me."

Jimmy stilled and stayed perched on the seat like a statue. Edith saw him search her face with his eyes but she gave a slight shake of the head. Marianne entered the room, having hung up Edith's coat, and gave her another hug. "Oh Edith, we have so much to catch up on!" Marianne patted her friend on the shoulder. "I'll go get us some tea and we can talk about it all." She excused herself and went into the kitchen.

When Marianne was out of earshot she turned to Jimmy. He was still staring at her, his mouth hanging open. He closed it and cleared his throat.

"I didn't think I would ever see you in my home again," he finally said.  
"Jimmy, we're in trouble."

In 1910, "trouble" was a whispered word. It meant only a few things, none of them good. Between two lovers it meant only one thing. Though Edith shuddered to consider Jimmy her lover, the trouble was still the same.

The familiar churning returned and Edith placed a hand on her stomach. Jimmy got up and walked over to her. She cringed and braced for him to strike her, to yell, to tell her to leave. She wasn't expecting the joy that sparked behind the grey of his eyes.

"It's mine." Behind the caution in his voice was a hint of happiness. "Tell me it's mine."

"It can only be yours," Edith whispered.

Jimmy opened his mouth to speak but his words were cut off by the cacophony of breaking dishes and a sob behind her. His eyes widened and Edith felt a chill run down her spine.  
_Not like this. Not now._ But it was like this and it was now. They had forgotten where they were.  
"How could you?"

Edith turned around just in time to see Marianne crumple to the floor.

By the time the doctor arrived to the Brandons' home, the entire neighborhood was buzzing with Marianne's sudden illness. Edith shooed people away, letting only the doctor in.

"You best go home," she quietly told the women standing around the Brandon porch. "We don't know what's wrong and I suppose all Marianne wants to do is rest."

Once everyone was gone, she down sat in the sitting room doing and undoing the top button of her collar repeatedly. Jimmy came down to talk to her but she quickly cut him off and told him to go be with his wife.

"She doesn't want me up there." He explained.

"Well, I don't want you down here."

He sat down next to her anyway. After a moment she sighed and leaned back on the couch, letting her head rest on the cushion behind her.

"I made a lot of mistakes," Jimmy whispered, "But I love you. Just say the word and I'll leave her."

Edith laughed bitterly in response.

When the doctor came out moments later, Edith quickly jumped up and away from Jimmy. The doctor didn't notice. He gave a quick speech about nothing seeming wrong and that perhaps Marianne was exhausted. He asked if there was a possibility she was sick from pregnancy and Edith wanted to scream.

_Yes, doctor. I s'pose she's sick from mine._

She couldn't take it anymore and ran up the stairs, saying she wanted to check up on her friend. When she got to the bedroom door, it was closed so she gave a timid knock.

"Marianne? It's me, Edith."

A quiet voice asked her to come in.

Marianne was lying in bed, the same bed she had given birth on months ago, with the sheets pulled up to her chin. She looked exhausted, pale, and her face held nothing of the vibrant girl that had moved to Biloxi less than a year ago.

"Oh Marianne," Edith choked back a sob, "I can explain everything."

"You did this to me. This is your fault entirely," Marianne snapped while staring at her.

Edith shook her head. "I didn't mean for this to happen," she started.

Marianne held up a hand to shush her. "You took my boy away from me."

"I didn't take Jimmy away from you. He's right downstairs on pins and needles-"

"I was talking about my son."

Edith felt the room spin. She almost ran back down to get the doctor, to tell him Marianne had gone mad. "What are you talking about?"

Marianne sneered and sat up on the bed. "You took him away from me Edith. You, Jimmy, and your sin. You think I was blind? I saw the way you looked at him from the very start. You got his attention with your 'poor widow' act." Marianne let out a strangled moan. "You've taken everything."

"Your baby was sick, Marianne. There was nothing I could do for him. And as for Jimmy? I swear if I told everyone what he did to me--"

"You're not going to tell a soul."

Edith blinked then. She had been so sure Marianne would tell the world about the betrayal, about the bastard child growing in Edith's belly. She felt a pain in her chest, in that familiar space between her ribs that she now knew love occupied.

"Marianne, what are you going to do?"

"You took my baby away from me. It's only right I take yours."

"No." Edith felt her shoulders begin to shake.

Marianne sat up on the bed and moved to her knees. Her face seemed to light up, almost happy with the ideas she was spouting. It made Edith feel sick.

"It won't be bad, I swear to you. I'll love it and raise it as my own, mine and Jimmy's! He'll love it because it's really his, and if it's his it's a part of me too." She fisted the sheets and smiled. "The Lord has his plans, do you remember that? _This_ is his plan."

"Absolutely not, Marianne. Absolutely not." _She's gone mad. _Edith backed up until she felt the bedroom wall against her back and still it wasn't enough. She wanted to melt through into some space where she felt safe.

Marianne had begun to cry and was pleading. "But Edith, it's so perfect. We'll let people think this illness was just early pregnancy ills. We can go up north say it's for the better hospitals and no one here will ever know. They will never know!"

Jimmy burst in then, eyes wide, and out of breath. "That is enough!"

Marianne and Jimmy began arguing and Edith used their distraction to make her exit. Missy was standing on the porch when she flung open the front door. Her smile fell and she immediately reached out to pull Edith into a hug. "Is everything alright up there?"

Edith felt ashamed, angry, scared, and hurt from the stabbing pain in her chest. She wanted to give a million answers, to tell someone everything, but instead she buried her face into Missy's ruffled collar and answered, "I don't know."

For days Edith had dreams of the devil crawling into her room and taking her hands. Each time she was left alive but with no way to care for her baby and it died each and every time.

During the fourth night of nightmares, she woke up gasping for air, sheets and pillows on the floor, her hands grabbing at her hair. In this dream the devil hadn't taken her hands at all; it merely followed Edith, slowly draining the life from everything around her until her garden was overrun with black weeds and the baby in her arms was just a lifeless pale doll with a permanent ghastly smile.

It was just after dawn on the fifth day when Edith repeated her walk over to the Brandon's. She let herself in, finding the couple sitting at their kitchen table, a tense silence hanging in the air. Both looked up in surprise and Edith spoke before either of them could say a word.

"If you promise to love this baby, it's yours."

###

The train home seemed to take longer than it should have. Edith had napped, read the newspaper, and knitted on the train, but it wasn't enough to pass the time. She was anxious until the train stopped at the Seashore station and she was able to hail a cab home. Her body still felt sore and she felt frail. She realized her legs were shaking slightly._ Dear God, I hope she's doing well._

Edith shook her head as if the act would physically keep unwanted thoughts out of her mind. _I'm not going to think about her_…She tried to think of other things instead:

If her house was the same as when she left it.

If Terrence had entered the regatta this year.

If Missy had made that slipcover she had spoken about for months.

If Paul had found himself a nice girl.

When her cab pulled up to her house she was surprised to find how different it looked. There was a fresh coat of paint on her home and new rose bushes lined the front porch. The note tacked on her door explained.

**Just a few little things to brighten up your home – Paul**

Edith put her bag away and then went outside to examine the bushes. She pushed her face into them lightly, careful of thorns, and inhaled deeply. They smelled like love.

All the neighbours seemed to notice her arrival at once and, when she turned around, there were no fewer then five women in front of her house. Edith took a deep breath and, after quick pleasantries, waved the women away. "The trip has me tired. Perhaps we can catch up tomorrow."

"But where's Marianne? Where's the baby?" Sis asked.

The Brandons and the baby were still in Boston; Edith had simply been sent home when she wasn't needed any longer.

"The baby's too young to travel still. They'll be here in two weeks." She replied with a forced smile. "I apologize but I'm so very tired." The gaggle nodded in unison and dispersed minus one.

Missy Pleasant was persistent and held up what appeared to be a slice of pound cake and a pitcher of lemonade. "Now, I reckon you're beat," she started, "but a little cake never hurt anybody, did it? Have a piece and you can tell me all about your trip!"

Edith let out a groan and shook her head. "I really missed you, Missy, but I really should rest. Perhaps we could-"

Missy pushed her way inside and closed the door behind her. "I'll just set these down for you and then go on my way." Edith nodded and quietly followed her into the kitchen. She watched her neighbor put the items away and then stall.

"Honey," Missy began after a few moments, "I brought the newspaper."

Edith raised an eyebrow. _Why would she do that?_ She let out a shaky breath and sank down into one of the kitchen chairs. "Oh goodness, Missy. Did something happen when I was gone? Are the DeWitts okay? The Pleasants?"

Missy sat down next to her and pushed the paper across the table. She took Edith's hand in hers. "Eighth page, third paragraph. I didn't think you should be alone."

Edith grabbed the copy of the herald and turned to the dog-eared page. She read silently, pursing her lips. Her eyes scanned the page once, twice before falling on the three simple sentences.

**_::Notable Births::_**

_Congratulations to Jimmy and Marianne Brandon who welcomed their first child on October 5th. The bouncing baby girl weighed 7lbs 2 ounces and has black hair and grey eyes. She is named Mary Alice, a spin on her lovely mother's name._

All the tears Edith had held back in Boston, held back the past nine months, came forward with such a force she began to shake. She dropped the newspaper on the table and wrapped her arms around her belly, trying to feel for any glimpse of the life she had held inside her. There was none. "Missy," she wailed, "I didn't know her name. They wouldn't tell me her name."

She felt arms around her and heard a soft voice in her ear. "It's okay, darling. Everything will be okay."

Edith wasn't so sure.

.

* * *

*hides from pitchforks* I know, I know! There was barely any Mary Alice in there. But, trust me, this chapter was critical. She'll be in the next one.

I don't like giving away plot but I will say right now that Mary is completely safe around Jimmy. He made some **extraordinarily bad** choices but he is neither a serial rapist nor a pedophile. There will be more on him later.

Visit the profile to see some cool pictures and to listen to the song in this chapter, Love Me and the World is Mine. Also, I'm a judge in Les Femmes Noir! More info and a link on my profile.

Reviews get a teaser and some freshly made cornbread.


	3. Some of These Days

Muchas gracias ha Beth, who did most of the beta-ing this round. Thank you to my other betas, Sarah on UU and born2speakmirth over at Twilighted for all their help and support. You three ladies are the shiznit.

Thank you to everyone who has given this story some love. I can't express how much I appreciate your giving this story a shot.

Stephanie Meyers owns Twilight, including its characters and plot. I own Jimmy, Marianne, Edith, Missy and all the people you haven't read of elsewhere. Enjoy.

* * *

**October 30th 1910**

The Brandons arrived back home in Biloxi right when Edith said they would. It was the day before Halloween when they pulled up to their house in a horse drawn carriage that Jimmy had hailed at the station. The cool weather permeated the coach and Marianne looked out the curtained window with a frown. The weather was warmer than when she had left in March, but Marianne still felt cheated somehow; they had left before the spring and arrived right before the winter. It seemed the warmest days would elude them; even now, the sun was hiding behind grey clouds.

After she exited the coach, Marianne stood in front of her home with Mary in her arms, tilting her head to the side. She tried to appraise the house, checking for damages, but she found herself unable to recall what the house had looked like before. _Has that scratch in the second step always been there? Has that flower bed always been barren? Was the house always painted white, for heaven's sake?_ She turned to Jimmy but realized these questions were too crazy to ask out loud and instead busied herself with making sure Mary was bundled up tight.

"I say," Jimmy grabbed a suitcase and wiped his brow. "How did we come back with more than what we left with?"

The driver smiled and pointed to the bundle in Marianne's arms. "I think that's the way it's supposed to happen with babies." The men shared a hearty laugh. Marianne had to force hers.

The inside of 355 Tanglewood was no different than the outside, and once Mary was placed in the bassinet temporarily set up in the sitting room, Marianne looked at everything with new eyes. Whoever had stayed in the house had covered some of the furniture in sheets and Marianne's frown grew deeper when she realized she didn't know what was underneath. She pulled the sheets off and wrinkled her nose. _Was the sofa always burgundy? Were the chairs always green? _She was relieved to see the table in the dining room. It had been her grandfather's, and she remembered him sitting at the head clearly. She ran her hands over the knots in the wood, trying to commit every groove to memory.

Eventually, Marianne wandered back to the sitting room where Jimmy was standing, his back to the doorway. The room had felt tiny eons ago, and now it felt large with only her small family to fill the room. She recalled the times her friends had filled the space; Missy and Terrance holding hands in the corner. Elizabeth knitting on the wingback chair to the far right. Paul DeWitt asking Edith to dance…

"No one came out to greet us," Marianne said quietly.

Jimmy huffed in annoyance and turned around. "What did you expect? No one even knew when we were coming."

He walked over to the window and Marianne followed. Their eyes swept across the neighborhood. Everything looked as it should with one glaring exception. The house next door didn't look the same and Marianne couldn't place why. She felt a stirring in her chest and placed her hand over her heart.

"Our house hasn't changed at all, thank God." Jimmy said.

"It hasn't?" She hadn't meant to sound so surprised, but it came out anyway.

Jimmy turned to look at her and raised an eyebrow. "No, everything's the same as we left it." He studied her face closely and then gave a placating smile, "I shouldn't be surprised you can't remember it well. It seems the entire time we've lived here, you've been preoccupied. With good reason, of course." Jimmy cleared his throat and closed the curtains. As he walked away, Marianne couldn't help but feel defeated. She wanted to ask him a question he wouldn't understand; a question that she already knew the answer to.

_I was the ghost, wasn't I?_

Marianne did remember two rooms in startling detail. One was her bedroom; a room she had spent so much time during her days at the house, she wasn't surprised that she remembered it so well. The other room she needed courage to think about, let alone enter. She picked up her daughter, careful not to wake her, and took the steps one by one. She passed her bedroom and went to the door at the end of the hall, one that was barely used. Cobwebs hung from the jambs, and Marianne shifted the baby so she could sweep them away with a free hand. She stood there several moments, not moving, even when she heard Jimmy walk up next to her and ask her if she was okay.

"I'm afraid of going in," she finally answered.

After their son had died, neither of them had entered his nursery. The room held no memories of him; he had never been taken inside, never slept in his crib or been fed in the rocking chair.

Instead, the room held memories of promise:

Jimmy hammering the railing into the crib.

Marianne decorating the walls with paintings of animals.

Jimmy surprising her with a rocking chair.

Marianne singing a lullaby to her belly while gently rocking herself.

The excitement and anticipation had been such a force in their lives, she feared it still hung from the walls like a mobile forever circling around the room. It was these feelings Marianne was afraid of. What if she had only convinced herself she would love Mary as much as she had her son? What if, upon opening that door, the baby in her arms would feel like an intruder? What if, when she laid Mary down in his crib, the grief enveloped and crippled her? What if she couldn't keep her word?

"I can't go in there," she whispered to herself. "I can't."

Jimmy heard her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Marianne knew he too was terrified, but he couldn't possibly understand; _Mary is his_, Marianne thought, _and I'm still not sure she's really mine_.

"We can't avoid it forever," Jimmy said, and he pushed the door open. Its creak resonated through the halls, and Marianne cringed, squeezing her eyes shut. The air from inside the room came wafting out to greet them; it smelled stale, and it felt warm.

Marianne felt Jimmy push past her and enter the room. _Please. _She took in a lungful of their stagnant dreams and slowly opened her eyes. The room looked exactly the same. The walls were still the soft cream Jimmy had painted them. The drawings of animals were still hanging in their places, glittery strands of web reaching out from their corners. The soft teddy bear Marianne's mother had sent them still sat on top of the small dresser that held baby clothing and bibs. _Clothing he never got to wear. _She felt her lips tremble, and she opened her mouth to excuse herself. A small squeak made her stay rooted to her spot.

Jimmy was standing next to the rocking chair. He ran a finger across the arm, leaving a trail of exposed wood underneath the inch of dust. He stared at it for a long time before clearing his throat and looking up at the ceiling. "It needs a little dusting, and maybe some oil, but it still looks good," Jimmy said quietly. He turned to look at his wife and gave a watery smile. "Mary is going to love rocking in it, isn't she?"

And just like that, Marianne knew the room was Mary's, and that somehow it always had been. She nodded quickly and looked down at the baby in her arms. _My baby_. She blinked back a few tears and smiled. "I think we'll make your father dust, won't we?"

_I love you so much, Mary_, she thought.

Marianne kept her promise after all.

###

**March 1910 - Boston **

When the Brandons and Edith stepped off the train at the Boston station, someone was waiting for them on the platform. He was a short, bald man, with a large belly that made his suspenders look like they were ready to pop. He was holding up a small sign that read "Branden parti". Marianne poked her husband lightly in the arm and gestured toward the man. "Is he for us?"

"That must be Mr. Walker. He was supposed to meet us here with the keys to the place." Jimmy walked forward and shook the man's hand. After a few words were exchanged, Mr. Walker fished a key from his coat pocket. "I hope you enjoy your stay in Boston," he yelled toward the women. Marianne looked away, and Edith had shrugged.

It had been Marianne's idea to rent a townhouse for the few months they would be staying. It would allow them privacy and discretion, she had argued. Jimmy relented. The quest for a temporary home led them to Mr. Timothy Walker, a landlord who, in turn, led them to 299 Commonwealth Avenue. It was one of many townhouses in a row lined with trees and shade. Across from the houses, there was a small strip of grass and even more trees. The house certainly held the anonymity and discretion they had asked Mr. Walker for.

Jimmy walked inside first, carrying most of the bags. Edith followed with hers, and Marianne followed behind them, her eyes wearily searching the home. It was fully furnished, as Mr. Walker had said it would be, but it was devoid of any personal affects or touches. When they walked into the sitting room, the faint strums of a guitar could be heard through the wall.

Marianne forced herself to smile, "Isn't this nice, you two?"

Neither Jimmy nor Edith answered as they glanced around the room. After a few moments, Edith lifted her bag and excused herself up the stairs.

"This is hard enough as it is, Marianne." Jimmy dropped the bags he was holding and ran a hand through his hair.

"Don't you scold me, Jimmy. I was trying to be friendly."

"It's not working." The bags were taken into the room, and the house grew quiet. Even the strumming next door faded away.

Marianne dropped herself heavily on the flowery couch in the sitting room and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes_. Lord, please tell me I'm doing the right thing._

Ever since she was fifteen, Marianne wanted a baby. The urge was small at first, something her own mother had dismissed as a passing fancy. But as she grew older, her body ached for a child. The day she realized she was pregnant had been her happiest, and the day he died had been her worst. She felt a pain in her chest in the months following his death. Her heartbreak felt tangible; if she could cut open her chest, she was sure she would find nothing but shattered splinters in the space her heart used to occupy.

When she had found out Jimmy had gotten Edith pregnant, she thought she would die in shame. Instead her mind began to piece things together for her.

_"Why can't it be mine?"_ she had asked herself.

_"Why can't it?"_ she replied.

Edith could never raise a child on her own. If she were even allowed to keep it, she would be a pariah. Her child would have never lived the life every mother would want. No, the best solution was to find it a good home, a loving home, with a mother who would think of the child as hers without a second thought. The sense of betrayal was eclipsed by a sense of hope, and her thoughts spiraled out of control. Before she could reign them in, Edith was standing in front of her, and Marianne was uttering the words that would change their lives forever: "It's only right I take yours."

Marianne let out a slow exhale and got up off the couch. She took a moment to poke around the kitchen, and found a few teabags and a kettle. Once the tea was done, she fixed two cups and began her ascent up the steps, taking care not to spill any. She took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door. "I was wondering…would you like some tea?"

The door flung open, and Edith stood on the other side, a shocked expression on her face. Several emotions flickered across her face before it settled into a calm mask. She opened the door wider, allowing Marianne to step in and take in the room before her.

It was painted beige, with a small closet on the left side, a four post bed in the middle, and not much else. There was a small window on one side covered by a lace curtain that had begun to unravel from the bottom. Edith had already begun to unpack, and a few dresses were hanging in the closet.

Marianne quietly passed Edith a cu,. and the two women each took a seat on the edge of the bed. Each searched for something to say before Marianne gestured to the closet, "You didn't bring much with you."

"Nothing I have back home will fit me in a few months. "

"Oh," Marianne felt ridiculous for asking. "Yes, of course. We'll have to get you some clothes, then."

Edith murmured her thanks. The two drank the rest of their tea in silence as they had done so many times in Biloxi

As the months passed, the ladies found it impossible to avoid each other. Jimmy had found a seasonal job that kept him out all day, and Marianne found herself craving company. She invited Edith to knit with her, or join her for lunches in the dining room. Marianne didn't feel a friendship with her, not anymore, but she was ultimately devoted to Edith and the baby's needs. It was during one of their quiet lunches in the kitchen, that the baby kicked for the first time.

Marianne gasped as Edith leaned over in her seat and took a sharp breath, "What is it, Edith? What do I do?"

Edith let out a laugh and sat back, "Someone in there is causin' a ruckus, is all."

"The baby is kicking?" Marianne's hand shot out toward Edith's belly automatically, but she stopped it short. "Can I? I mean, is it okay?"

There was a hesitant nod, but it was a nod nonetheless.

Marianne pressed her hand gently against the bump and waited. She felt it. A hard movement pressed against her hand, and she let out a sigh and felt her eyes tear up. "Hello, baby," she whispered. "Oh, Edith, how can you give this up?"

The words had slipped out without any thought. Marianne froze and choked back a sob. _Now she'll want it. Now she'll think of the sacrifice and want to keep it._ Her fingers began to sink into Edith's flesh as if they subconsciously wanted to claw the child from the womb. Edith was looking at the ice box, a faraway look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Marianne whispered. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No," Edith finally replied. "I always wondered if you'd ask. The truth is, I'm not sure I can look at her without feeling a sense of shame. Without thinking of how…" She cleared her throat and looked down at Marianne, "Promise me you won't do that. Promise me you'll love her."

"It's a girl?"

"I think so," Edith closed her eyes and rocked back and forth on the chair. "Yes, I think it is."

Marianne got up off her knees and went back to her seat. She felt Edith's eyes on her as she folded and unfolded her napkin three times, pushed a few peas around her plate, then took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back.

"I promise I'll love her."

###

Edith went into labor on an idle Tuesday afternoon, and the next day, the baby was born. Marianne had stayed with her the entire time, wiping the sweat from her brow and holding her hand, "It's okay. It has to be okay this time." No one in the room was sure whom Marianne was comforting, not even Marianne herself.

It took almost a full twenty-four hours, but with one final push, loud cries filled the room. Edith clenched her eyes closed. "Thank you, God," she murmured.

The midwife, an older woman named Sarah, cleaned up the baby and held her out toward the head of the bed. "Do you want to hold her?" she asked.

Marianne swooped forward, bringing the baby into her arms. She took in as much as she could. The baby was a pale pink shade but glowing, with large grey eyes and the slightest dark fuzz covering the very top of her head. She was crying loudly, little fists shaking in the air. "Oh, you're so beautiful," Marianne cooed. She rushed out of the room and into the foyer where Jimmy was waiting.

"It's a girl, Jimmy! We have a little girl, and she's got your eyes!"

Jimmy stopped his pacing. The smile that spread across his face was instant and blinding. He crossed the room and gently stroked the baby's cheek, "She's beautiful. Did Edith see how beautiful she is?"

Marianne shook her head and continued cooing.

"Did she even see her? Jesus, did you even let Edith hold her?" Jimmy's voice was rising, and Marianne found herself glancing back into the bedroom. The midwife was still inside.

"Keep your voice down, Jimmy. She's ours, this was the whole plan."

"Marianne-"

"She's mine."

Somewhere next door the neighbor began strumming his guitar again. Marianne welcomed the distraction and took the baby into the sitting room, where she began wrapping her up in a blanket. Jimmy entered the room and crossed his arms.

"Edith is going to see her eventually. Who is going to nurse her?"

"I already found someone from the paper. She'll have formula in the meantime." She shifted her weight from foot to foot, "Don't you dare ask me to let Edith do it. I won't." She had meant to sound strong, but it sounded like a plea. _Don't make me give them a chance to bond._

"If you just-"

"I won't, Jimmy."

The strumming next door abruptly stopped and signaled the end to their conversation.

Katherine Shaw was a beautiful young woman. She was almost a child herself, just nineteen, with long blonde ringlets and clear blue eyes. She had lost her second baby to crib-death and put an ad in the Boston Daily offering her milk to a family in need. Marianne was the first to answer, and she was hired with just a phone call. When Katherine walked into the townhouse that Friday afternoon, Marianne had paled at her youth and beauty and wondered if she had made a mistake not seeing her first. She should have hired someone older, someone homely. _Someone Jimmy wouldn't take to…_

They walked up the stairs together, and Marianne braced herself. Jimmy both calmed and angered her; he had barely given the girl a second glance. Instead, he stood like a guard outside of Edith's door, pacing back and forth, and pausing each time she seemed to stir inside.

"Mrs. Brandon?" Katherine gave her a small smile, "Do you think your baby is hungry now?"

Marianne nodded and led the way into her and Jimmy's bedroom. They had bought a small bassinet and, inside it, Mary was whimpering. Katherine winced in discomfort when the baby latched on before sighing and smiling.

"Does it hurt?" Marianne asked quietly.

"Just a little," Katherine shifted the baby in her arms, "I could see why you're not breastfeeding, Mrs. Brandon. You have a wonderful figure for someone with a newborn."

Marianne gave a huff before thanking the young woman and excusing herself. She exited the bedroom and looked down the hall. Jimmy wasn't anywhere in sight.

She didn't bother to knock; she opened Edith's door and looked around the room. Edith was propped up on her pillows, looking towards the small window.

"If you're looking for your husband," Edith said, "he's not here."

Marianne stepped all the way inside and closed the door quietly behind her. Her face began to color again, albeit this time in red with embarrassment. She changed the topic, "How are you feeling?" she began.

Edith's shoulders dropped. She rolled her head back a bit and let out a hum, "I feel alright, I suppose." She turned back toward the window. "Did I hear someone else enter the home? Do we have a visitor?"

"There's a wet nurse staying with us. Her name is Katherine, and she's quite nice." Marianne fiddled with the bow on her neckline. She wasn't sure how to say what she wanted. "Are you . . . Are you feeling well enough to go home yet?"

Edith gave a short laugh, one note that cut through the silence of the house, "Jesus, Marianne, it's been two days. You're just dying for me to leave, ain't you?" She shook her head in disgust and stared hard at Marianne, who grew uncomfortable under her gaze. Edith suddenly softened her features. "Can I see her?" she asked.

_No._

"You'll see her in Biloxi all the time," Marianne choked out. Her throat was getting thick, and she found herself having difficulty speaking. "I'm going to go start dinner."

"Can you at least tell me her name?" Edith wrung her hands together, "Please?"

"We haven't chosen one."

Edith gave a sad smile, "Yes, you have."

Marianne found herself stumbling out of the bedroom as quickly as she could, and turned, closing the door in front of her. She heard a rattling noise and realized she still held the doorknob in her trembling hands, "Oh my God." She felt chilled to the bone.

Two hands grasped her shoulders tightly, and she felt herself being spun around. Bright blue eyes stared into hers.

"Mrs. Brandon, are you alright? You're shaking like a leaf!" Katherine patted the woman's arms. "Are you alright?" she repeated.

"Mary Alice," Marianne whispered.

"The baby?" Katherine scrunched up her nose in confusion, "She's asleep in her bassinet."

"Never mind, Katherine." Marianne pulled away from the girl and headed into her bedroom. She didn't bother to change, but crawled into bed just as she was, shoes and all. The shadows on the wall were the only mark of time, and she watched them wax and wane until they disappeared altogether. Sometime later, in the darkness, she felt the bed shift and knew Jimmy was sitting on the edge, removing his shoes.

"Honey?" she said quietly.

"I'm here, Marianne. Get some sleep."

Jimmy's dismissal stung. Marianne fiddled with her wedding band before taking a deep breath, "You didn't look twice at Katherine. She's such a pretty thing, too. I was so sure you'd like her."

"Marianne-"

"You know what hurts the most, Jimmy? That you love her. Edith wasn't a mistake for you. You love her," Marianne whispered.

Jimmy didn't respond. He pulled the duvet cover over them, and after some hesitation, draped an arm loosely around her waist.

When Marianne woke up the next morning, Edith was gone.

###

**November 1st 1910 - Biloxi **

The fanfare Marianne expected came one blustery afternoon two days after their return. Sis, Carolynn, and Elizabeth showed up at the Brandon's door without warning, bearing gifts, and flowers. Marianne welcomed the ladies inside and ushered them into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry if it's a bit dusty," she began. "I haven't had much time to clean since we got back. Whoever rented the place didn't make a mess, but they sure didn't use anything."

Elizabeth and Carolynn exchanged a glance before taking their seats around the kitchen table. The women took turns asking questions about Boston, the North, and the pregnancy. When they asked about the baby, Marianne went and got her from the nursery. The ladies shouted with glee when she returned. Sis was the first to rush over and gently take the baby from her mother's arms.

"I love her little outfit," Sis exclaimed, pulling lightly on the baby's dress. "Oh, and she's got Jimmy's eyes!"

"Where is Jimmy, anyway?" Elizabeth asked.

Jimmy had already gone back to work, and the ladies once again nodded in unison when they were told as much. Marianne was starting to find all their similar behaviors annoying.

"It's a shame Missy and Edith couldn't be here," Carolynn said in between bites of a ginger snap, "I though Edith would be missing the baby."

Marianne tensed up, "Why would you think she was missing the baby?" She didn't keep her voice even.

Carolynn put her cookie down and leaned back in her seat, "I just thought she'd miss her after spending so much time up there with you," she replied.

"Oh, of course. Well, Edith didn't spend much time with the baby itself. She left right after the birth." The ladies were quiet after that, and Marianne wondered why she had wanted any fanfare at all.

###

"She's too small," Jimmy frowned and let little Mary grasp his finger in her pale little fist, "Is she supposed to be this small?"

Marianne had been knitting in the nursery when Jimmy had come home from work. Several weeks had passed since they had arrived back in Biloxi, and they had settled into normalcy and routine. Jimmy gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, as he always did, and had walked over to the crib to say hello to Mary. This time, when he looked down, he stopped mid-bend and appraised his daughter once. Twice. Then he frowned and said the words Marianne knew she would hear eventually.

In Boston, Mary had seemed fine. In Biloxi, in the crib and clothes they had bought for their son, Mary seemed to swim in fabric. Marianne had noticed it a week ago, and had tried to give her daughter more milk, but the attempts were in vain. She wasn't having it.

"She is too small," Jimmy repeated, breaking Marianne out of her reverie. She gave an exasperated sigh and tossed her knitting onto the small table in the room.

"She's perfect, Jimmy. Absolutely fine."

"She's not fine. She's small, and she's still pale. We should have hired a wet nurse again."

Marianne was shaking her head before she finished her sentence, "The formula I got at the pharmacy is just as good as a wet nurse."

"It's obviously not, Marianne." He sighed and stuck his hands in his pocket, "Why won't you just let someone feed her?"

Marianne got up from the rocking chair and walked over to the crib, pushing Jimmy out of her way. She lifted Mary and took her into her own bedroom, closing the door on her husband's protests. When she was sure Jimmy wouldn't burst in, she began to unbuckle the blouse of her dress with one hand.

She had heard stories of adoptive mothers producing milk for their children, and she was determined to do the same for Mary. She held her close to her bosom and gave a small hiss when she latched on to her nipple. "That's it," she whispered.

After a few moments, Mary pulled away, mouth dry and lips lightly chapped, and began to cry. Marianne stared at her for a few moments before quietly buttoning her blouse and taking her downstairs for a bottle.

###

Desperation can do funny things to a person. It could make someone say something they shouldn't. It could make someone act before thinking. It could make someone ask for help in the last place they thought they would. The latter was what Marianne Brandon found herself doing one winter day.

Mary did grow, but, at four months, she was not nearly as big as she should have been. Her skin had begun to have a blue undertone, and Jimmy was at his limit. Marianne preferred to think it was something that would go away, that whatever it was would heal, and Mary would be right as rain. She pointed in excitement when Mary had begun to lift herself up on her arms. "See, Jimmy," Marianne had said, "She's fine." They both ignored the struggle it seemed to take their daughter to do anything, or the way her bones jutted out at the wrists.

But that desperate winter morning was the final straw. Marianne had just walked into the nursery, when Mary tried to lift herself as she had before.

"Good morning, darling--" Marianne was cut off as Mary collapsed with a thud onto her chest. The action surprised her more than hurt her, and after pursing her lips into a small 'o', she began to wail. Marianne found herself crying right along with her.

"What's wrong with you?" Jimmy had already left for work, which left Marianne alone and terrified. There was only one person she could get to quickly that would know what to do. She grabbed Mary and ran out the door without a second thought

When Edith opened the door, her first thought was that she was dreaming. Her second thought was that she had been in that position too many damn times; someone would bang on her door, and she would come running. Further more, she was getting tired of how often it was a Brandon on the other side. Still, she was surprised to find Marianne at her door at all, let alone in a robe and with pin curlers still in her dark brown hair.

"What in the world…?" She noticed the baby and raised her eyebrow.

"There's something wrong with her!" Marianne choked out, and she pushed the baby into Edith's arms. Edith stood frozen at the door for a second, looking down at Mary as if she had never seen a child before. A few beats passed before she gestured Marianne inside and closed the door. She hurried to the sitting room, and Marianne followed her blindly.

"She's so small, Edith. She's not growing like she should be. This morning she was lifting herself up and she collapsed! She couldn't hold herself up!" Marianne pressed a hand against her mouth to hold back the sobs. Edith couldn't contain the small smirk that appeared on her lips. This happened all the time to the new mothers: their babies would do something completely normal, and they would come to Edith in tears asking her what was wrong. Edith lay Mary down on the couch; the girl was looking at Edith curiously and trying to grab her hands.

"Babies usually drop themselves a couple of times, dear. Wait until she starts walkin'. She'll fall down more times than she steps, I tell you." She widened her smile and began poking and prodding Mary, feeling her arms and legs. She felt lightly around her skull and frowned.

"Who did you get to nurse her here?" Edith asked.

"I didn't get anyone," Marianne flinched under Edith's glare and sat down on the sofa with a sigh. "She's being fed, Edith. I give her formula."

Edith stared at her a moment longer before turning back to the baby and continuing her exam, "I never see you out much."

It was true the women had seen each other on the street, at the market, in the pharmacy. Once they had even gone to Carolynn's house for tea, not thinking the other would show. Marianne was the first to leave, citing feeling tired or needing to feed the baby.

"I thought seeing my family would be hard for you."

"Is that right?" Edith couldn't keep the incredulous tone out of her voice.

"No," Marianne licked her lips, "I thought if you saw us, you might change your mind and try to get her back."

Edith didn't respond. Instead, she lifted the baby up and placed her in her mother's arms, "I think she's got the rickets. It's a bit early to tell, but her head is real soft. It's not s'posed to be that soft at her age," she trailed off and brushed one of Mary's locks of hair off her forehead.

"Rickets?" Marianne began to tear up again, and Edith held up a hand.

"Don't you start that nonsense, Marianne. I know more kids with it than without. Mary will be fine if it doesn't get too bad. My mama used to give the kids cod liver oil to fix 'em up. I don't know if it works, but I never go against my mama."

Edith got up off the sofa with a gesture to wait. Marianne watched her leave and then took stock of her home. Whereas the Brandon home seemed like a museum in its lack of change, Edith's home felt like a store that changed fashions with the seasons. The furniture was different, the linens were different, even the wall color was different than she remembered.

"Paul," Edith had walked in and noticed Marianne's glances, "He thought change would be a good thing." She gave no further explanation as she handed Marianne a small bottle, "That's the cod liver oil. I suggest that baby get some fresh air and sunshine. It ain't good to have her cooped up every day."

She settled back on the sofa and folded her hands on her lap. Her voice grew quiet, "Marianne, you shouldn't worry about me. She knows you as her mother by now, and I wouldn't take that away from her."

The two women shared a look and a silent conversation.

_This can be normal_, Edith said.

_Maybe it can be_, Marianne answered.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Marianne took it as her cue to leave. She thanked Edith, who invited her over for tea. Marianne agreed and exited the house before she could change her mind. Missy Pleasant stood on the porch slack-jawed, and only managed a weak wave when Marianne walked past. Missy watched her walk back to her own house before running inside Edith's home. There she found her friend sitting on the sofa, a surprised look on her face, "Oh, Edith, what did she say to you? Why was she here with the baby? Was she here long?"

Edith caught the last question and shook her head. "No. Not long at all," she answered with a smile.

It seemed to Edith that the most life-changing events happened in mere minutes.

###

Mary went outside at least once a day for an hour. The improvement was instantaneous; her skin began to have a soft glow. Jimmy was often the one with her, and Marianne would watch lovingly from the kitchen window as he would walk Mary around in his arms. Some days he would turn on the phonograph loud enough so he could hear it outside. It was always Sophie Tucker, and he would sing along rocking Mary to the beat of the music. Marianne chose to ignore his longing glances to the house next door.

Those who knew the truth about Mary were surprised when Marianne decided to go over to have tea with Edith as she had said. The two eventually settled into conversation, ignoring the topic of Boston or Jimmy altogether, though talk of Mary was welcomed by both. Marianne found she preferred Edith's company over the usual group that seemed to hover around her porch, and she found herself going back again the next day.

Being in Edith's house so often made Marianne resent the drabness of her own home. One evening she felt inspired. She threw on a house-dress, dragged a chair over to the tall bookcase in the sitting room, grabbed her duster, and went to work.

"How does this house get so damn dusty?" Marianne swept the bundle of feathers over the top of the bookcase, making a large cloud of dust billow towards her face. She let out a few hacking coughs and a sneeze for good measure. The chair she was standing on rocked, and she let out a loud yelp.

Mary, who was lying on a blanket on the floor near the sofa, began to giggle.

"Your mother is amusing, isn't she, Mary?" Marianne tossed the duster to the floor and climbed down from the chair she had been using to reach the top shelves. "Your father, on the other hand, is not amusing at all. In fact," she turned toward the kitchen and bellowed, "He should be in here helping!"

"I'm not listening!" he called back.

Marianne picked the feather duster back up and shook it in his general direction. This made Mary laugh even harder, and she rolled herself on her back, her thin little legs sticking up in the air. Marianne watched warmly as her daughter became enthused with the socks on her feet and pulled them off.

"I just put those on you," Marianne sighed, then turned around and began to dust the bottom shelf.

Jimmy, being an accountant, had a large collection of books; algebra, statistics, and economics were his favorites, and there were countless texts stuffed into the Brandon bookcase. They didn't interest Marianne at all, and if she had had her way, they would have stayed behind in the move. After all, how practical were statistics in one's daily life? Her thoughts were interrupted when a few books slid off the shelf. She jumped back so they wouldn't fall on her feet as they settled into a heap on the floor.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" She had tossed the duster aside and was gathering her skirts to kneel when something pink caught her eye. Moving the top books aside, she found what she was looking for; one of the heavier books had fallen open and, nestled between the pages, there was a single blossom.

Marianne picked up the book and scanned the cover. It was a mathematics book indeed, something only Jimmy would read. But why would he be keeping a flower in a geometry book? It appeared to have been there for some time by the way it was paper-thin and completely dry. The spine of the book was cracked on that page, as if it had been opened to that space frequently. Marianne stroked the edges of the blossom gingerly and pursed her lips.

"Honey?" She called out to her husband.

"Not now, dear," Jimmy replied in a sing-song voice.

Marianne let out a huff and walked towards the kitchen. When she entered, Jimmy was sitting at the table with piles of paperwork on either side of him. He held a small stub of a pencil in one hand and was mumbling numbers to himself, writing with a frantic pace in his notebook. Marianne cleared her throat to get his attention, "Jimmy?"

He looked up, his smile disappearing quickly when he noticed the book in her hand, "Marianne, what are you doing with that?"

"It was sitting on the bookcase I was cleaning."

Jimmy's eyes bore into hers. He let out a scoff, and his hand twitched as if to snatch the book away from her. His reaction was all she needed to suspect this was something more than it seemed.

"What does this flower mean, Jimmy?"

"It's just a flower I found on the street one day."

"And you saved it?" Marianne heard her voice rise in pitch and began tapping her foot to keep herself calm, "Keeping a random flower off the street isn't something you've done before."

"Look, I saw it on the sidewalk and I thought…," he trailed off and sighed, "It reminds me of a time I could have been a better man. But it's just a flower, Marianne."

Marianne studied his expression. He wasn't lying. "That's all it is?"

"That's all it is. Just a flower." He adjusted his glasses and looked down at his papers, "It's just a flower," he repeated. His voice sounded thick and tinged with a hint of sadness. It felt familiar to Marianne somehow.

"So should I keep it, then?"

"It doesn't really matter, dear." And he went back to his equations.

Marianne closed the book and exited the kitchen. She went back into the sitting room, taking a quick glance at her daughter. She was still enthused with her socks.

A quick scan of the bookshelf got Marianne what she was looking for. The Language of Flowers was something an aunt had given her a few years ago. She rarely found use for it, but now she had it propped on her lap, comparing illustrations to the flower in the math book. She found it quickly and read the definition out loud.

"Azalea: a flower meaning fragile passion. Restraint." It didn't mean anything to her. She placed her flower book back on the bookcase and tossed the math one into the dustpan. She began to walk away before suddenly stopping and turning back. She finally realized what was so odd about Jimmy's voice; it was devoid of hope.

Marianne picked the book up out of the dustpan, wiped it off, and placed it back on the shelf.

* * *

The foundation has been laid down and you know what that means: The next chapters are all about Mary. I know, I'm excited too. Head over to my profile page or blog to get more info on this story and this chapter, including some cool links.

Also don't forget I'm a judge in **Les Femmes Noir**. Kissing up to my story won't win you any points but you could try anyway…(just kidding).

Reviewers get a teaser and fresh ginger snaps.


	4. Over There

I'm really sorry for the delay. I had finished this chapter about two weeks ago and then lost the _entire thing_ due to a tech fail. It was like being punched in the gut, I tell you, and it took me a while to get the motivation to rewrite it.

Thank you to Sarah for taking the beta lead this time and to Beth and born2speakmirth for being so supportive. A huge thank you to TLYDF, Edwardville, The_Gazebo, Twilighted, PastichePen, UU, Freakyhazeleyes, giselle-lx, and anyone else who pimped the shit out of this story. Thank you to all who faved and reviewed; you guys are so amazing. I hope this chapter lives up to the wait.

The Twilight Saga and all involved belong to Stephanie Meyers. Everything else in this story is mine.

* * *

**March 1911**

To the Brandons, it seemed their days in Biloxi passed like water through a sieve. Jimmy worked; Marianne tended to the home; and the two monitored, with the keen eyes only parents have, little Mary's growth. While other parents looked for signs of gift or promise, the Brandons searched for normalcy. Another inch, another pound, another month of life and they'd breathe simultaneous sighs of relief. _She's normal,_ they'd think. _Thank God, she's absolutely ordinary_.

If only they knew…

For those few months of her life, Mary saw color in ways others didn't. She saw brightly hued ribbons curling around people's hands; washes of blue rolling over the floors; small starbursts of yellow peppering the walls of her nursery. To everyone, it seemed she spent her days in stare, tiny hands outstretched towards things out of her grasp.

"I worry about her," Jimmy told his wife over dinner one night. "Should I be worried about her?"

Marianne gave her husband a small smile and gently patted his hands. "Things are new to her, Jimmy. She's just curious."

The neighborhood women all agreed with Marianne. They came over one day to help cook a jambalaya for Jimmy's birthday.

"She's going to be a smart one," Sis said while peeling shrimp. "Look at those wheels turnin', Marianne. I wish my Sally was that curious about the world."

Carolynn made a noise of agreement. "It's not a bad trait to have."

Peals of laughter suddenly bubbled from the baby girl, making the women look at each other and smile. Marianne gave a small sigh and wiped her hands on her apron. "What in the world could she be laughing at?"

To Mary's eyes, the shrimp were throwing off tiny rays of light, traces of phosphorescence lingering on the swiftly discarded shells.

Of all the wondrous things her eyes beheld, Mary loved hands the best. Every time Marianne reached down to feed, weigh, or measure her, Mary would grab on to her fingers and examine them.

"There's nothing special about these hands," Marianne told her repeatedly. She couldn't see the long purple ribbons that hung down past her knees and sometimes knotted themselves in her sash, or ran in and around the slats in the crib like latticework.

Edith had pink ribbons around her hands, soft ones that left halos of fuzz over everything she touched for just a moment. Mary was over at her house often, sometimes with her mother, more frequently without. Edith would bounce her on her lap and hum songs while watching the rest of the neighborhood children play on the sidewalks. This was her favorite thing in the world, for outside in the sun the colors were everywhere and they blurred together in the most beautiful and intense way. One gorgeous summer afternoon Mary began to writhe from Edith's grasp.

"What's the matter?" Edith said with a smile in her voice. "What are you reaching for?"

The DeWitt boys had run by and behind them trailed the most beautiful braid, the intricate weave of family, sliding across the bright yellow pavement.

Edith looked, squinted, and then frowned at the boys. "Not until you're older," she huffed.

Jimmy's hands were something else entirely. While others had a solitary color for all time, his would change almost daily. Mary would wait impatiently for him to come home and then grab his hands immediately. Sometimes they were red speckled with taupe, other times they were the mellowest blue. In the early days of the New Year, Jimmy's ribbons would match the grey of his weary eyes. His shoulders were tense, his gaze sad, and he didn't smile at Mary as much as he had before.

She reached for him once from her seat on the floor next to his chair and he, as if she could understand, shook his head at her. The rejection was startling; it felt like flames licking her cheeks and the sensation surprised her so much she began to cry.

"Oh for Pete's sake, Jimmy." Marianne threw her fork down and wiped her mouth on her napkin. She pulled away from the table and went around, picking Mary up and rocking her against her chest. "You're never like this with her. What's going on?" Traces of uncertainty flickered across Marianne's face. Was he worried? Was he leaving her for Edith? Was it someone new?

It _was_ someone new, someone unexpected. Jimmy took a deep breath and sighed. "His name is Lewis Hine."

Sometime in February, Jimmy explained, Hine had walked into the DuKate cannery, camera in hand. He was a thin man, close to forty, with large round spectacles and a pressed jacket and tie.

"He said 'I've come to take photographs,' and that was it. That was his entire introduction."

"He came with a camera?" Marianne mused. "Well, it's peculiar, but nothing to be upset over. "

Jimmy shook his head. "DuKate told him to knock himself out. He took a few photographs of our offices, and then asked me to lead him to the floor to take some of the workers. Now I knew some of them were children…"

It was at this point Jimmy seemed to crash. He placed his head into his hands and let out a staggering breath. "I didn't know!"

On the cannery floor there were babies working; eyes drooping with fatigue, small bodies pressed against their mothers' legs, fingers red from peeling shrimp and shucking oysters. Jimmy had stumbled backwards into the high trough, shells and discarded mollusks cracking and slipping under his shoes.

"Marianne, one of them was a little girl just three years old. Three--" his voice cracked and he took another shaky breath, eyes locked on Mary's tiny figure. "Just babies," he whispered.

Marianne reached out and took his hand in hers. "It's not your fault. There are people in desperate times, people who need every penny. You didn't know."

Jimmy nodded, but he could never agree; there was so much he hadn't noticed in that tiny little office above the cannery floor, so much he'd never caught sight of.

And there was Lewis Hine, snapping away for the entire world to see.

###

Two months past Mary's first birthday, the colors disappeared. They didn't fade or dim; it was as if someone forgot to turn them on one day. When Mary woke up that morning and pulled herself up on the bars of her crib, the walls and floor were plain. She blinked repeatedly and when the pictures wouldn't come back, she screamed and banged on the railing.

Her mother hurried in, smiling and rolling her eyes in mock indignation. "Are you hungry already?"

When she got close enough, Mary reached out and grasped her mother's hands. They were just skin and flesh and bone, no ribbons or flashes of color, nothing miraculous about them at all. Mary began to cry harder and threw herself onto the mattress.

Marianne's smile disappeared. "Honey?" She reached out to pick her up, but Mary only whimpered and moved away, her eyes never leaving the bare hands in front of her.

Marianne examined her hands briefly and reached out for her daughter again, fingers spread wide. "There's nothing there. See?"

Mary eventually let herself be coddled and fed, and after a while, she stopped looking for the flashes of light. After a while, she forgot she had been able to see something more at all.

###

**March 13th, 1917**

Every day, at 3pm, Mary found a place to hide. Some days she would dive under the couch and some days she would hide under the table. In February she even hid in the huge cedar trunk where her mother kept all the good linens. Unfortunately she fell asleep in there, and woke up with an ache in her head and the smell of cedar ingrained into her nostrils for days.

Good hiding spots didn't matter anyway; her mother always found her, wielding that divine weapon called "motherhood", and always, always, with that despicable vial and spoon in her hand. Today her mother had found her hiding behind the curtain, her small feet sticking out from underneath the sheer drapes. Marianne stifled the urge to sigh and tapped her foot. Mary didn't move, hoping her mother was just bluffing.

"Mary Alice, get out of there. It's time for your liver oil."

Mary pouted and stuck her head out. "But, momma…"

"Now."

Mary stepped out of the shelter of the curtains with a wounded look on her face. Her hair was a mess, the curls at the end frizzy and tangled, and her eyes were slightly sunken. At six years old, she was barely three feet tall.

She grimaced and pointed at the spoon. "I don't want it, momma," she whined.

Marianne paid no attention and pinched her daughter's nose until she was able to stick the spoon into the girl's mouth. "And don't you dare spit it out," she warned.

Cod liver oil had to be the worst thing in the _world_, Mary decided, as she swallowed the slimy, fishy liquid and began to cry. A nagging little voice in her head told Mary that it really wasn't that bad, but the rest of her wasn't listening. She sat on the sofa and cried until her father came home from work.

Jimmy hated seeing his daughter's red splotchy face and scooped her up the minute he hung up his hat and jacket. "Cod liver oil?" They had done this routine many times before.

"It's bad, daddy!" Mary pressed her face into her father's shoulder and hiccuped. The smell of his cologne calmed her and he held her close until her sobs dissipated and her breathing evened out.

"What can I do to make it better?"

"Out!" Mary exclaimed before he even finished the sentence. She wriggled until he set her on the ground and ran towards the door. Neither her father nor mother had to ask where she was going. She ran all the way next door, her Mary Janes kicking up dust behind her. She knocked on the door repeatedly and impatiently.

Edith opened the door with a wide smile. "I was wonderin' if you'd show up today." She opened the door wider and Mary slipped underneath her arm and took a running leap onto the sofa. Edith laughed and clicked her tongue against her teeth. "I hope you don't do that at home."

Mary shook her head and straightened up, her thin legs kicking back and forth. She waited patiently while Edith got her a glass of lemonade and she gulped it happily, washing away the taste of salty tears and fish.

"Miss Edith? Can you tell me a story?"

Edith didn't answer right away. She held up a finger and walked over to a cabinet near the entry of the kitchen. She pulled out a small pearl comb and, when she returned to the sofa, she pulled Mary onto her lap and began to make her way through the tangles.

"That's better. Now, what story do you want to hear?"

Mary couldn't contain her excitement. "The one about Mister Paul asking to marry you! That's my favorite."

"It's my favorite too."

###

The first time Paul Dewitt had proposed, Edith didn't have to answer; he never got the words out. They had joined Cormack and Elizabeth Liddell for a late supper. Just as they were about to sit at the table, there was a knock on the door. Cormack answered the door and moments later Marianne's voice floated to the dining room.

"We decided to come after all." Marianne breezed into the house, followed by Jimmy who was holding a sleeping Mary in his arms. Upon seeing Edith and Paul, Marianne stopped in her tracks.

"Oh, Elizabeth," Marianne's face was flushed and she wrung her hands together. "We didn't realize you had invited others. We don't want to intrude…" Edith tried to look elsewhere but once she felt Jimmy's eyes on her body, the magnetic pull was too much. They had seen each other since Boston, of course, but it was in fragments, glimpses through windows or doors, and the sound of each other's voices in entrance and exit. But now Edith was staring at him fully, trying to catch any traces of change. When she met his eyes, she shuddered; they were full of tenderness and longing.

Elizabeth waved her hand and huffed. "Don't insult me, Marianne! There is plenty of space and food. Come, we can put Mary in bed with Beth." And so the Brandons squeezed in and joined the dinner.  
It had gone well enough; Edith immersed herself into conversation with ease, laughing at the right times, her fingers grazing Paul's arm. Her body spent each moment hyperaware of the heat rolling off the man next to her and the gaze of the man across the table.

Near the end of the dinner Paul tapped his fork on his glass. Everyone paused and looked at him as he stood.

"Paul?" Edith whispered.

He cleared his throat and a telltale blush spread across the bridge of his nose. "I'd just like all of y-y-you to know how much I care for the woman next to me," he said. He sighed shakily and grabbed the waist of his pants, hitching them up.

_Oh lord, not while he's here…_ Edith glanced up to see Jimmy grow pale. He let out a growl and moved to get up at the same time she shuddered and covered her eyes with her hands. Suddenly Mary let out a high-pitched scream from the nursery that sent Paul tumbling backwards and onto the floor. Elizabeth gasped as she took in the scene before her:

Jimmy leaning over the table, arms outstretched towards Paul.

Paul sprawled out on the floor next to Edith's chair.

Edith with her hands over her face, shaking her head.

Marianne at the end of the table, laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all.

###

Paul tried again a few weeks later. This time he and Edith were eating dinner alone at her house and, after kissing her on the cheek, he got down on one knee.

"Oh, Paul, I—"

"Now, don't interrupt me before I even get to start. That's happened once already." He let out a laugh and cupped her cheek in his palm, running his thumb over her lips. "I know you. You're thinking of a million reasons to say no, even though you love me. You think I'm too young, even though I'm a man. You think I shouldn't make a wife out of a widow, even though your strength gives me courage. You think there's something better for me out there, even though there cannot be anything more consuming than the way I feel about you." He paused and lowered his voice. "I love you, Edith Coutu. Whatever your answer, I'm going to watch over you for the rest of my days. All I'm asking is for you to make an honest man out of me while I do."

Edith let out a laugh and wiped the tears she felt falling down her cheeks. "That was beautiful."

"And I didn't stutter o-o-once... Oh, dammit."

Edith really let the laughs fly then, slapping her knee, and tossing her head back. When she calmed down she held Paul's hand in her own. "I s'pose we'll have to make honest people of each other."

Within the month, Edith Coutu became Edith DeWitt and went from being alone in Biloxi to being one of sixteen.

Mary got the censored version of the story, of course. The first proposal was left out entirely and the speech was worded in ways a six-year-old could understand. All Mary got out of the story was the way Edith's eyes grew soft and how she looked wistfully beyond anything in the room as if she was reliving the moment with each retelling.

Mary mimicked Edith's content sigh and reached out to rub the small ring on her left hand. "Pretty " Mary whispered.

"One day," Edith said, "you're going to find someone like Paul for yourself."

"Hmm?"

Edith laughed at Mary's confusion. "What I mean is, when you're older, you're going to find a boy you'll want to always be with."

Mary thought of the boys she knew and wrinkled her nose. "Boys are ickier than cod liver oil."

"Oh," Edith clasped her hands and smirked, "I would love for you to feel that way forever but trust me. Same day some boy is going to steal your heart away."

Edith's words were still tumbling around in Mary's head days later. She was in the backyard with her father, pressing her face into the sheets hanging on the clothesline. They felt cool on her cheeks and smelled like a mixture of her mother and the smell before rain. Her father laughed at her and kept lifting up the sheets to make faces at her, an odd complicated game of peek-a-boo spurring between them.

Marianne suddenly burst through the backdoor, a peculiar expression on her face.

"Mary," she said breathlessly, "there's someone waiting for you. On the lawn."

"Who is it, Marianne?" Jimmy rose at eyebrow at his wife's face.

"Let's go see." Mary followed her parents through the side and to the front lawn eager to see who their guest was. When she caught sight of messy black curls she stopped in her tracks. It was William Reed, a lanky neighborhood boy who was a head taller and would wheeze whenever he said her name. One time, while playing softball with the rest of the boys, he had proclaimed he would hit a home run for Mary Alice. He had missed the ball entirely and fallen over into the Dickett's trashcan. Now he was standing on Mary's lawn, sans trashcan, shuffling his feet on the grass.

Mary looked back at her parents. They were polar opposites; her father stood still and stiff, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, his face stern. Her mother seemed to radiate joy and she had her hands out in a gentle shooing gesture, her teeth gleaming from the space between her lips. "Go on, Mary," she prodded.

Mary slowly stepped out on the lawn and let out a fake cough to get the boy's attention. William looked up and smiled.

"Hello, Mary Alice." He began to wheeze. "I made you something. My momma helped." He held up both fists. In one he held a paper doll, in the other, two paper dresses to clip on it.

Mary reached out and gently pried them from his hands. The doll's right arm was crumpled as well as one of the dresses. She bent over and smoothed them on her skirt.

"Thank you, William," she finally murmured. "They're lovely."

"I think you're pretty." He took a step back, waved, and then ran off down the street to join the older boys who were already playing a game of softball.

"What did he give you, Mary?" Jimmy suddenly towered over her. She silently held up the doll and watched as his face went from amusement to concern and back again. "Isn't he a few years older than you? Have you met his family? What does his father do?"

Marianne stepped in between them, putting one hand on her husband's arm and the other on Mary's head. She was trying desperately not to laugh. "Oh, Jimmy," her eyes crinkled, "Stop being so difficult. The Reed boy is just a year older than her. It isn't a big deal."

Jimmy huffed and adjusted the waist of his pants, mumbling something about "damn boys".

Marianne choked back another giggle and bent down slightly so she was at eye level with Mary. "Don't pay your father any mind, sweetheart. He's just afraid you're going to run off with a boy some day and stop being his little girl."

Jimmy muttered something under his breath and rolled back on the heels of his feet. Marianne declared she would start dinner and walked inside the house, yelling out a warning for Jimmy to behave. He crossed his arms and tucked his chin into his chest like a child.

_Oh, he's really angry_, Mary thought. He had his eyes trained on the group of boys playing baseball down the block. William kept pausing occasionally to wave at Mary.

Mary cocked her head to the side in thought_. Boys can bring me gifts. They can steal my heart. They can run off with me… _

"Eww!" Mary grimaced when she saw William spit on his hand and shake another boy's.

_And they're definitely ickier than cod liver oil._

She turned to her father and squeezed his large hand between her two small ones. "I'll _always_ be your little girl, Daddy" she said confidently.

Jimmy tore his gaze away from the boys and smiled. "I'm sure you will." He smoothed the hair from her forehead and lifted his head slightly. Suddenly his brows furrowed, and he looked stern again. "Mary?"

"Yes, daddy?"

"Don't talk to any boys until you're older."

"Yes, daddy." Mary didn't see what was so great about boys anyway.

###

Spring settled onto Tanglewood Drive late in 1917; the grass was peeking up from the barren ground, and the annual blooms had just begun to unfurl from their tucked slumber.

Mary began to leave her window open just a crack; she loved the smell of the grass and the morning dew as it floated through her window.

In the first week of April, in the middle of the night, the breeze carried the sounds of panic and Mary awoke to the rise and fall of voices. She blinked her eyes and tried to figure out what was going on.

"Momma?" she called out but there was no answer. She crawled out of bed and paddled over to her door. The voices grew louder and Mary realized that they were coming from her own home. The door flew open before she had a chance to grasp the knob. Marianne stood on the other side, eyes wide and panting. Edith stood behind her looking similarly.

"Momma? What's going on?"

Marianne shushed her and picked her up from the waist. She quickly ran down the steps, Edith barely a step behind.

The Pleasants, the Liddells, the LeMaines, the Reeds, the Thomases, the Dicketts, even all of the DeWitts were stuffed into the Brandon home. The men were gathered around the phone talking excitedly to one another while the women huddled around the couches and chairs, the children in a circle at their feet. Mary reached out to William and Sally but Marianne wouldn't put her down; she sank into the nearest chair and began rocking her daughter slowly, Edith sitting close next to her.

Mary was afraid. Everyone was; she could hear it in their voices. The curtains were drawn, the front door locked with a chair placed in front as if someone or something would try to get in.

"Damn it, Wilson!" Bill DeWitt suddenly cried. The crowd parted and he stood in the middle, finger pointed in the air at no one in particular. He was an old man, just turned seventy, with white whiskers and a slight paunch of the belly. Without warning, he walked over to the nearest wall and slammed his fist so hard into it that bits of plaster flaked off onto the floor. The air filled with gasps.

"Oh, Bill, you'll hurt yourself!" Mrs. DeWitt cried.

Bill paid her no mind and ranted and raved, using words that made the women flinch and the men shake their heads. Mary didn't understand any of them but the look on his face was enough. She had never seen someone this angry.

"He said he'd keep us out of this!" Bill gave one last grunt and stopped. He stood still with his hands up in the air, shaking with rage or exhaustion. It was quiet, eerily desperately quiet, for a few moments.

"So it's true then." Sis whispered.

Bill lowered his hands and exhaled. He slowly walked towards a chair on the other side of the room and set himself down without grace, the thud resonating through the still quiet room. He shook his head once, twice, then scoffed and pointed towards Jimmy, who was setting the phone back down on its cradle.

Realizing all eyes were on him, Jimmy cleared his throat. He opened his mouth several times, his eyes looking pained. Mary imagined the words must have had thorns or sharp edges; it seemed as if he was hurting himself trying to get them out. He tried again, standing tall and serious, no match for the tinny voice that came through. "That was Harry from the newspaper. He's supposed to run the story tomorrow. He could lose his job for telling us early, I suppose."

"Out with it," Sis demanded.

"Yes, it's true. Wilson has declared war."

Mary didn't know who Wilson was, though she had heard the name before, but she understood it wasn't family or a friend. The words her father said seemed bigger than her, much bigger than she could comprehend. She felt her mother shake silently and the arms wrapped around her began to squeeze tighter. Mary felt something clawing at her chest, a chill that crept up to her throat and made her realize something was so very wrong.

In that instant, two young brothers had looked at each other across the room and nodded with grim faces. Earnest DeWitt was a week shy of eighteen and planning to start college next fall to be an accountant. Harry DeWitt was only a year older and worked on the docks like his father and older brother. They had seemed worlds apart in interests and dreams but suddenly their lives converged and coiled, their possible ending as connected as their births. In one sentence fishing on the dock and the study of numbers seemed insignificant. Their father had understood this the moment his fist met the wall but their mother was locked firmly in denial.

"No." Elena said quietly without a questioning lilt to her voice. Missy reached over and patted her on the hand but she pulled away quickly, rising up in the center of the room, puffing her chest in defiance. "No," she repeated, her eyes scanning the room. "Not my boys."

"Mama," Earnest choked out. How many times had she heard him say that throughout the years? Why hadn't she counted them? Why had she assumed she would hear that word always? "Mama," he said again and Elena shattered before everyone's eyes. She ran toward her son and threw her arms around his neck. She sobbed into his shoulder, momentarily letting go so she could beckon Harry into her embrace and the three stood together, a mass of sorrow, rocking back and forth in the foyer.

Mary felt the hole in her chest expand and she looked away from the scene. She felt movement next to her and looked over. Edith wasn't looking at the scene either but was instead staring at her husband who, in turn, was staring at his mother with fierceness in his eyes. Edith jumped up from her seat and made her way over to him, cupping his cheek in her palm.

She leaned in close to his ear and began to whisper. "I know what you're thinking, Paul, and I understand. You want to protect them. But…but you can't leave me." She loved her newfound brothers, her newfound family, with all her heart but to lose the man she was holding on to would destroy her. Losing him after losing everything else…"You can't leave me," she repeated.

His eyes grew soft. "I promised you I'd watch after you the rest of m-m-my days, Edith. How could I possibly do that halfway 'round the world?" He pushed her back slightly and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.

Mary couldn't stand to see Edith cry and she wriggled from her mother's tight grip and ran towards the kitchen.

"Mary!" her mother yelled. Everyone stared in shock for a moment before letting that one call loosen tongues. In seconds everyone was talking, yelling, comforting, and they converged together in the center of the room making it easy for Mary to zigzag between them and leave them behind.

She ran out the back door without bothering to shut it behind her, around the side yard, out to the lawn where she paused to catch her breath. She shivered in her long nightgown and then, finding courage, puffed out her chest as Mrs. DeWitt had done. She looked up and down both sides of the street, expecting to see Wilson and his war come marching down her block. _Isn't that why everyone is so scared? I'll show him._

But Wilson and the war never came marching up to Tanglewood that morning. Jimmy found her curled up on the sidewalk some time later counting the cracks.

"Mr. Wilson didn't come, daddy."

Jimmy picked her up and brought her inside, past the crowd of people.

"She's fine," he told everyone and he climbed up the stairs and tucked her into bed. "Get to sleep," he whispered, "and dream really beautiful dreams."

"What should I dream about?" Mary fell asleep before she heard her father's reply.

That night she did dream. Her visions were filled with vivid colors and someone humming a lullaby. They were just flashes, random images that towards the end focused on a child sleeping comfortably in her mother's arms. Mary awake with a start and let out a squeal of glee. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and ran out her bedroom door through the open hallways of the house towards the room where her parents lay. She opened their door cautiously. Her parents were asleep on separate sides of the bed, miles of paisley and lace stretching between them. The stream of light from the open door stirred her father awake and he sat up like a shot.

"What is it, Mary?"

The little girl rushed toward the bed and dived right into the middle, settling in the space between them. "I did it, daddy," she whispered. "I dreamt of something wonderful."

Her father looked at her curiously with one eye raised before groaning and throwing himself back onto the pillows. "That's real good, sweetheart."

"Uh-huh. It was great. There was someone new here and—"

"You know," Jimmy interjected, "if you tell your dreams they won't come true."

Mary gasped and zipped her lips tight. Her father's breathing evened out and she realized he had fallen asleep. She wanted to tell him but she didn't dare risk her dream not coming true. _But if he's asleep it doesn't count_, she rationalized.

Softly, making sure he wouldn't wake, she leaned close to his ear. "This is a secret," she whispered. "Her name is Francine and she's going to be my friend."

She covered her mouth to hold back her giggles and then exited the room, closing the door behind her.

* * *

**History Lessons:**

1) Lewis Hine is real. As a photographer for the National Child Labor Committee, he visited the canneries in Biloxi to photograph children, some as young as three, working on the floors. His photographs and captions helped push the Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938.

2) When WWI started in 1914, the USA had a policy of neutrality. Woodrow Wilson was reelected in 1916 largely because he managed to keep the US out of it; his slogan was even "He kept us out of the war." Four months into his second term, on April 6th 1917, he declared war on Germany. This was followed by rumors that the draft, which had not been seen since the Civil War, was going to be reinstated. The rumors came true that following June when the Conscription Act of 1917 was passed.

Want to see Alice and Jasper talking about looking for her past? Want to see Edith and Paul's wedding? Want to hear one of Jimmy's secrets? Want a Mary, Full of Grace outtake where YOU choose what I write? Then run over to my Fandom Gives Back auction page and bid!

Links to the auction, Lewis Hine's photographs, and other references can be found on my profile and/or blog.

Reviewers get a bowl of steaming jambalaya and a teaser.


	5. Interlude: Pecans

The next chapter will be uploaded right after this one; Missy just really wanted to add her take and wouldn't let me move past her. She's pushy!

Thank you to Beth, Sarah, and born2speakmirth for their beta powers of good.

Stephanie Meyers owns Twilight and I own everything and everyone else in this story.

* * *

**Interlude: Pecans**

**April 1917**

"The secret to a good pecan pie is the ingredients. The filling has to be fresh and the crust mixed with ice water so it's flaky and light. Most importantly, the pie, as with any meal, has to be made with love**,** or it won't turn out at all."

- Ms. Delores Jones, 1899

Missy held the faded scrap of paper up to her face and smiled. She had woken up that morning with a sudden urge to bake and, after washing up, she went through her recipe box to find the familiar instructions. She'd made the pie so many times she was sure she could make it in her sleep; on occasion**,** she woke to find her fingers poised in the air**,** pinching the edges of an imaginary pie crust. Still, something about her mother's handwritten note was comforting, and she looked at it each and every time she began the dish.

The shockingly sweet dessert was a constant in her life growing up, even before she could reach the stove. The pie was the only fond memory she had of the plantation: when she was a child**,** she'd run beneath the trees that surrounded the house, catching the falling nuts in her full skirts. As she grew older**,** she found solace in the simple recipe, and made it for every grand moment in her life. It was even the first meal she'd served Terrence. When she laid out the dessert first**,** he had raised an eyebrow and asked if dessert should come before the main course.

"Perhaps not. But if you can't handle this," she'd smirked, "there's no point in going through an entire meal." Terrence had given her a cocky smile as he dug his fork in and took his first bite. Missy let out a hearty laugh at his reaction; his lips puckered and she knew his tongue was pressing hard against his palate. Once he swallowed, he gave a low whistle.

"My goodness," he'd said. "No wonder everyone speaks highly of your mother's recipe."

Then he'd winked at her and gone in for another bite.

###

Two hours later**,** Missy took a large bite of the cooling pie and squirmed. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. It was too hot, but just as good as ever.

There was a light rap on the door and she went to answer it, hand still fanning her mouth. Mary Brandon stood on the stoop, swinging her hands back and forth, her blue dress swishing in the cool ocean breeze. Missy quickly swallowed and let out an embarrassed laugh.

"Mary Alice! How nice to see you. Are you having a good day?"

"Hi, Mrs. Pleasant!" Mary took a deep breath. "I was in my yard and I smelled your famous pecan pie. You're baking one, right? I thought it'd be alright if I came and asked for a piece. It is alright, isn't it? I can take it home with me if you're afraid it will spoil my dinner, although you really mustn't worry about that. If anything, my momma wishes I'd eat more**,** judging by how often she tries to feed me."

Missy struggled to catch up with the rapid-fire conversationalist. "I'm sorry, can you repeat yourself?"

"I said I smelled that you were baking a pie. May I have a piece?"

"Oh. Of course you can have some. Wait here." She left the door open and headed back to her kitchen. As she cut a small slice**,** she caught her reflection in the glass of the window and paused. The kitchen window was closed. _All_ of her windows on the first floor were closed.

Missy hurriedly placed the dessert on a napkin and walked back towards the door to hand it to Mary.

"Thank you!" Mary grinned and took a bite. "Don't tell my momma**,** but you're the best pie baker in the whole world."

Missy thanked the girl for the compliment. "But**,** how did you know I was making a pie?"

Mary opened her mouth to speak, but then stopped herself; her eyes fell on something to her left. Missy followed her gaze and realized the girl was looking at the obviously shut window.

"Hm," she shrugged and looked back to Missy. "I guess it was just a hunch, Mrs. Pleasant."

Something about the girl was suddenly unnerving. Missy took a large step back into her threshold and wrapped her arms around herself, fighting a primal urge to flee.

"Are you cold?" Mary asked.

"A little," she lied. "Why don't you run on back home now?"

Mary grinned and began walking back toward her house. "Thank you for the dessert!" she called over her shoulder.

Missy retreated further into her house, closed the door, and leaned heavily against it. Her hand lingered over the deadbolt**,** but she finally decided against it, convincing herself that there was nothing to be worried about. She busied herself with cleaning the kitchen and then the rest of her house.

Later that night, when there was nothing else to occupy her mind, something kept gnawing and nagging at her. She tossed and turned for hours before settling for finding shapes on her bedroom's water-stained ceiling. Right before dawn, Terrance rolled over to face her.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" he mumbled.

"I'm worried," Missy replied. She took a deep breath and reached for his hand under the sheets. "There is something very wrong with Mary Alice Brandon."


	6. After You've Gone

Thank you to my betas who are made of awesomesauce: Beth, Sarah, and born2speakmirth, you girls make this story what it is.

Thank you to my readers for taking the time to read, leave comments, and share this story with others. I appreciate it.

Company Loves Misery by Angstgoddess currently has my attention. Go read that when you're done with this.

Smeyer owns the twilight universe and I own everyone else in this story. Enjoy.

* * *

**May 1917**

Much to Mary's dismay, blue wasn't Suzy's color and neither was puce. She held both paper dresses side by side in front of her doll and sighed. She had been playing with her doll for nearly half an hour, but most of that time was spent lamenting over the limited clothing choices. Finally**,** she tossed everything on her bed and frowned. "These dresses won't do." She ran down the stairs and into the kitchen**,** where her mother was kneading dough for dinner rolls.

"Momma, can you take me shopping for dresses?"

Marianne sniffed and shook her head. "You just got a new dress for Easter, Mary."

"But it's not for me. It's for Suzy."

"Who in the world is Suzy?"

"The paper doll William gave me." Mary looked down at her feet and sighed. "The two dresses he gave me don't look pretty on her. Boys don't know very much about these things**,** and, since he said his momma helped, I don't think Mrs. Reed knows much about dresses either."

"Mary," Marianne lightly admonished, and hid her smile behind her hand, "you're not being polite."

Mary blushed and mumbled an apology. "So can we buy Suzy some dresses?"

" I don't know about buying them." Marianne pursed her lips and stared off**,** deep in thought. "I think…" She trailed off**,** and turned to rinse her hands in the large basin sink. "Wait for me in the dining room, please."

When Marianne entered, her arms were overflowing with supplies. She began sorting out piles of ads from Penney's and Sears Roebuck along with tracing paper, colored kraft paper, and pencils. "Now watch."

Mary paid close attention to the way her mother copied the fashions from the ads and scaled them to the proper size so they would fit Suzy. She carefully cut the dresses out, complete with tabs, and held them out for Mary to see.

"Oh, momma! How did you know how to do that?"

Marianne grinned. "Before I was your mother-"

"That was a long time ago."

Marianne waited for her daughter to quiet before continuing. "Before I was your mother, I used to work at a tailor's shop. Oh, I used to work on some beautiful dresses, Mary. My favorite was powder blue with a silk bodice and lace trim." Marianne ran her hands over her ribcage to show where the trim ended. "It was stunning."

"Was that here in Biloxi?"

"No, that was back in California. I miss that shop sometimes."

"Oh." Mary nodded and began to rock slightly in her chair. "Can you teach me how to make the paper gowns for Suzy, then?"

Marianne smiled and pushed the tracing paper over to her daughter. "The first thing you do is trace…"

By the end of the week, Suzy had eighteen different outfits. She had dresses in mustard yellow, teal, and lilac. Mary grew courageous and began giving the dresses two and three colors, swirls of blue on pink backgrounds and polka dots so tiny they merged together to form large waves across the paper canvas.

"Look, momma. Isn't this pretty?"

Marianne reacted with the unabashed enthusiasm of any parent. "I've never seen anything quite like that before. How imaginative."

Jimmy, ever worrisome, frowned at the solitary new hobby. "Why don't you invite some friends over to make dresses with you? It's not nice to be cooped up in the house all alone, is it?"

_I won't be alone once Francine gets here. _ Mary shuffled her feet on the floor and gently bit down on the inside of her cheek. "Momma's with me all the time."

"Sally's around your age, isn't she? I bet she would love to play with you. Go over to her house tomorrow and ask her to come over."

Mary nodded but couldn't hold back a frown. She didn't want to play with Sally. "Daddy? Do you think momma is ever going to have another baby?"

Jimmy let out a nervous chuckle and set down the newspaper in his hands. He stroked his chin thoughtfully**,** and crossed and uncrossed his legs. "I doubt it, Mary. We're blessed to have you and that's enough for us."

Mary's face crumbled. "Oh," she mouthed.

"What's the matter?"

She shook her head, turned on her heels, and ran up to her bedroom.

The following afternoon Mary walked to the LeMaine home. They lived just down the road in a big showpiece of a house. It was ornately decorated and stood apart from the rest of the homes on Tanglewood. Her mother had once said that Sis was a "real southern belle with the attitude to boot." Mary didn't know what that meant**,** but she felt strangely out of place as she knocked on the large wooden door. Sis opened the door and waved the girl inside.

"If you want Sally, she's upstairs in her playroom."

"May she come over to my house?"

"I don't see why not. Go ask if she'd like to."

Sally immediately agreed to go over to the Brandon home**,** and she spent the entire walk back talking about how bored she was with her toys and her home.

After being served sugar cookies and glasses of lemonade**,** the girls went up to Mary's bedroom.

"Do you like dolls?" Mary asked.

"I love them. My favorite one is the one my father sent me from France. When you lay her down she closes her eyes. Do you have one like that?"

"No. Mine is made of paper." Mary grabbed Suzy from her place on her dresser and handed her over to Sally.

Sally turned the doll this way and that, grimacing the entire time, before finally rendering her judgment. "Her dress is ugly."

"I think Suzy likes it just fine."

"That doesn't make it normal."

The ensuing silence was awkward. Finally Mary clicked her tongue, shoved Suzy underneath her bed, and set out the makings of a tea party instead.

###

Sally and Mary grew into a friendship of convenience. Mary thought Sally too spoiled**,** and Sally thought Mary too odd but spending time together saved both from hanging out with Beth Liddell, who still wet the bed, or Savannah DeWitt, who bossed everyone around. Christopher Liddell was often invited to play with them, something which frustrated Mary to no end. She found him annoying and rude, but Sally had a crush on him and would never turn him away. To be fair, Sally didn't like William, but he often joined their games**,** too**,** just so he could be close to Mary.

Altogether the four played jacks and jump rope on their lawns while their mothers watched and doted on the two pairs, looking forward to the day they'd plan their weddings.

###

**August 1917**

"I wonder if we'll be in the same class."

The two girls were in Sally's bedroom**,** playing house. Mary was the daddy**,** so she hitched up her imaginary trousers while she talked, just like her father did.

"Well, Sally-"

"I'm the mommy! You're supposed to call me 'honey' or 'mother' or 'sweetheart'."

"Well, _honey_, my momma told me there's only one kindergarten classroom at Biloxi elementary**,** so I suppose we will be."

"Are you going to the train station tomorrow?"

"No. Should I?"

"Lots of people are going to say goodbye to the men leaving. Y'know, for the war," Sally said solemnly. "My uncle Peter is going**,** and mother says we need to show our support."

Mary thought of her father and pouted. "Are all the men leaving?"

Sally shook her head. "Just the ones who want to, I think. Some of them have to go, like Mr. Paul."

"Mr. Paul is leaving?" Mary sighed and sat down on Sally's bed. "But Miss Edith will be all alone."

"I know." Sally began untying her mother's apron from her waist; neither of the girls felt like playing house anymore.

###

Paul's name was on the list of those called to duty. Edith had found out first and she stood in the kitchen crying and raging until Paul came home. Once she saw him**,** she began beating her fists against his chest and arms. "You promised me." Her voice was hoarse from screaming and her syllables came out fragmented. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment and then he understood. He pulled her closer and bent his knees so he was staring right into her eyes.

"If I could stay**,** I would," he said, "but if I don't go**,** they're going to come for me anyway."

Edith nodded and rubbed her eyes with one hand. She tried to pull away**,** but Paul held her close. His lips brushed against hers and she pushed forward eagerly. "I'm terrified of what could happen."

"I'm coming back," he said sternly. There was no question in his mind.

All in all, fifty men were leaving the city of Biloxi to join the war effort. It was a scorching August day when Edith and Paul went down to the train station. They were joined by the rest of the DeWitts**,** those Biloxi men heading off to the forces, and what seemed to be half of the city. Even the Mayor was present, shaking hands and handing out ribbons to citizens.

"...stay safe..."

"...if Wilson had only..."

"...wish your father was here..."

The conversations ebbed and flowed. Edith sighed and stepped closer to Paul, wishing he would wrap his arms around her. "There's so many people." Edith murmured.

The conflict in the air was palpable, a bitter mix of fear, pride, and anger. How many wives and mothers wanted to cry and scream at that very moment? How many were at the brink of dropping to their knees and praying, right at the center of the station, for some sort of resolution? Edith knew she couldn't have been the only one.

"Honey?" Paul squeezed his wife's elbow.

Edith felt her heart race. "Is it time already? It can't be."

"No, not yet. I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I'll be fine." Always a lie. "Where are your brothers?" In the midst of her reverie Eugene and Harry had wandered off.

"They went to take a better look at the engine. H-H-Harry's been a fan of trains since he was a five years old and-"

"Mary!"

Edith and Paul looked up just as a small black-haired girl ran past them.

"Was that Mary Alice?"

People on the platform laughed and shouted as Mary called out apologies to those she bumped into. "Wait!" she shouted. "Please wait!"

Edith stood on her tiptoes and followed the girl with her eyes."Paul, can you see who she's running after?"

"It looks like Eugene and Harry."

Edith excused herself and moved through the crowd until she was next to her. Mary was standing behind Eugene and Harry, her brows furrowed and lips pursed. Edith approached her and tapped her gently on the arm. "Is everything well?"

The girl didn't answer. She stood rooted to the spot, her eyes focused intently on the ground in front of her. Her fingers began to twitch rapidly as if they wanted to rake through the coarse stone and soil. Harry noticed and turned around. "Is she okay?"

Edith nodded quickly. "Don't mind us, you two." She waited until the brothers were engrossed in their conversation again before kneeling before her daughter.

"Darling," she whispered, "What's wrong?"

Finally the girl moved; she clenched her fists and let out a shaky breath. "I'm fine, Miss Edith." Her voice was flat. She gave a small kick and watched the pebbles roll away under the tracks. "I thought I saw something on the ground."

"Well, what did you see?"

Mary's eyes grew wide and she gave a laugh. "For just a moment**,** I thought I saw strings."

"Strings?"

"But it was just for a moment," she quickly amended.

"Perhaps it was someone's shoelaces."

Mary knew they weren't. The strings were connected to Harry and Eugene, blue and white ones**,** twisted and tangled, trailing limply behind the brothers. They had begun to fray, Eugene's more than Harry's, and Mary felt sick as she pondered what that meant."It probably was a shoelace," she conceded. She took a deep breath and threw her thin arms around Eugene's waist. He regained his footing quickly and looked over his shoulder in surprise. "Well, now…" Mary quickly pulled away then gave Harry a similar hug before she ran off into the arms of Marianne, who was standing several feet away.

"What was all that about?" Harry wiggled his eyebrows and punched his older brother in the arm playfully. "I think the little Brandon girl has a crush on you, Eugene."

Paul joined the trio and was caught up on what had happened. Edith didn't say anything about strings**,** or how nervous Mary looked.

"Do you think she fancies one of my brothers?" Paul whispered into her ear.

"Maybe," she said, and quickly changed the topic.

All too soon the train whistle blew. The mood on the platform instantly grew somber**,** and everyone moved toward their loved ones in unison. Edith gave a small cry and fisted Paul's shirt. "Stay safe," she pleaded.

"I will be back before you know it." He gave her a lingering kiss and wiped under her eyes. "I love you, Mrs. DeWitt." He grabbed his duffel bag and hurried onto the train before he could change his mind.

As the men began filing onto the train, those left behind began waving their American flags wildly and shouting words of love, encouragement, and hope. To the left of the platform, Mary was holding her flag tightly against her chest while squinting and leaning forward. She could make out Edith watching as Paul boarded the train**,** and**,** as Edith waved**,** a huge grin spread out across Mary's face. She gave a small shout and began waving her flag then, bouncing excitedly next to her mother. She waited patiently for the train to pull away and for bystanders to begin leaving before catching Edith's attention.

She had red-rimmed eyes and was sniffling. She had a handkerchief in one hand and was taking deep breaths to calm herself. "Oh, Edith." Marianne gave her a warm hug and some words of comfort. She motioned for Mary to follow suit. Instead of a hug**,** Mary crooked her finger and grinned.

"I have to tell you something."

Edith leaned over and tried to force a smile. "Yes?"

"He's coming back to you."

Edith's eyes darkened and her lips curled before she regained her composure.

"I sure hope so."

There was no hope about it. Paul had a string of his own, gold, unharmed, and anchored completely to Edith.

###

In the days following the deployment, Edith thought she would lose her mind. Twice**,** she could have sworn she had heard Paul return from a long day at work, smelled the stench of fish and chum wafting up to her bedroom. She threw the covers off of herself and raced down the steps, taking them two at a time. No one was ever there**,** and that hollow space in her chest ached.

Her friends took turns checking up on her**,** as she had done for them so many times before. Missy had taken the brunt of the depression, holding Edith's hand as she sobbed and whimpered.

"Why don't you stay with the DeWitts?" she suggested. "Elena's been asking for you. I'm sure she'd love to have you."

Edith didn't even think of it. How dare she? How could she sit and cry in a home that was missing three sons? She'd never be able to look Elena in the eyes.

"No," she stated firmly. "I can't do that to them."

"I'm sure-"

"Missy, please." Edith smoothed the pleats in her skirt while Missy let out a deep sigh.

"Then at least come down to the docks tomorrow."

"The docks?"

"Yes. Many of the women are going and-"

Edith interrupted again with a bitter laugh**,** and ran a hand across her weary face. "Isn't it too soon for memorials? They just left, for Christ's sake."

Missy felt a moment of sympathy for her friend**,** before clearing her throat and slapping her hand against her thigh. Strong tones got through to Edith and, by God, Missy was going to get through to her.

"It's not a memorial**,** and you're going to be there, Edith DeWitt, if I have to drag you myself."

Edith blinked several times.

_I can't._

_Can I?_

"I'll go."

###

The next morning Edith woke up so early, it was still dark out. She looked around for a moment in confusion before realizing someone was throwing pebbles at her window. She threw on her robe and peered outside. Lila DeWitt, the oldest Dewitt girl, was standing on the lawn**,** wearing what appeared to be her father's clothes. They hung on her loosely, the long sleeves hanging practically down to her knees.

"Edith," she shouted, "put on a pair of trousers and get down here!"

"Trousers? What's going on? Where's your mother?"

"Nothing's the matter. Put on some of Paul's stinky clothes and his boots and come down."

Edith stuck her head back inside and grabbed some of Paul's clothing. They still smelled like him**,** and Edith found herself pausing to inhale the scent on the collar. Once outside, she realized several women were in the street. Some of them were hand in hand, and all of them were marching down to the docks. She spotted Missy exiting her house and waited for her on the corner, arms crossed.

"When you said to go down to the dock, I thought it would be at a respectable hour. What are we doing out this early?"

Missy just smiled and linked her arm through Edith' marched forward in silence through the early morning chill. When they reached the dock, Edith was braced to see candles and ribbons. Instead, what she saw took her breath away.

Mothers, sisters, wives and daughters were en masse, finishing the work their loved ones weren't there to do. Lila had grabbed a net and was mending the holes. Carolynn was talking animatedly with the Captain**,** while pointing to a map. Even Sis LeMaine was there, dressed as shabbily as the rest of them. She was already on a boat**,** raising the sails upward with a group of women Edith didn't recognize.

"They wanted to bring in immigrants and children from other towns to do this," Missy started. "But why? It should be us, dontcha think?"

"I s'pose." Edith smiled as the foreman approached them. He was shaking his head and muttering, looking just as surprised as Edith was. He harrumphed and shook his clipboard in Edith's face.

"You," he barked, "You workin' here today?"

"Paul, that's my husband, sorts the catch and helps deliver it to the canneries."

"Well, that's your job until he gets back. You okay with that?"

Edith felt a smile coming on. She didn't bother answering; she simply gave a wave to Missy and walked toward the large barrels that would soon be brimming with shrimp.

###

**June 1918**

"My mother told me there's a stork."

Christopher wrinkled his nose. "What's a stork?"

"It's some sort of big bird."

"Like a seagull?" Mary chimed in.

"No…Maybe. Let me finish!" Sally kicked her heels on the ground and let out a rush of air. "There's a stork that picks babies up from a baby garden and delivers the baby to mommy and daddies."

Mary glanced over at Christopher and cleared her throat. "Sally, that doesn't make a lick of sense."

The whole thing started when Henry Blythe, a boy from the high school, came down with a cough. From one day to the next it worsened**,** and before the doctor could even see him, Henry had died. It was the first sign that the Spanish influenza had made its way to Biloxi. All the schools were immediately closed down for the rest of the school year**,** and everyone flocked down to the white sands of the gulf**,** believing the ocean air could heal the epidemic that blazed a trail through the country.

That is why Mary, Christopher, and Sally found themselves on the dunes just up from the beach on a breezy Thursday they would have otherwise spent in the classroom. They had started with sandcastles, and the conversation flowed to Sally's aunt, Matilda, who was expecting a baby over in Gulfport.

"That's why they call it expecting," Sally continued. "She's waiting for the stork!"

"Sally, don't you remember when Mrs. Pleasant's sister came to visit from Louisiana and she had that big ol' belly?" Mary folded her hands and held them out way in front of herself**,** mimicking a pregnant belly. "The baby was inside her stomach."

"Babies are inside the mommy?" Sally pondered this for a moment**,** while idly moving sand with her small toy shovel. "How do the babies get inside of the mommies**,** then?"

At this, Mary was stumped. Christopher laughed at the girls and thumbed his nose. "My older brother told me all about it. There's a boy part that goes inside the girl parts."

"And?"

"And babies get made."

"Boy parts?" Sally laughed. "What in the world are boy parts?"

Five minutes later, Christopher Liddell was standing in the dunes with his pants around his ankles. Sally blushed and looked away**,** but Mary was curious and turned her head this way and that.

"I don't understand**,**" she finally said.

"Oh well," Christopher quickly pulled his pants back up. "Your turn."

"Oh**,** no," Sally shook her head so hard her pigtails flew and slapped her in the face. "I'm not showing you anything, Christopher."

Mary sighed and grasped the ends of her skirt. "I'll do it. But just a quick look." She didn't even have the skirts to her thigh when she heard Sally gasp.

Christopher let out a roaring laugh. "You have knock knees!" he cried.

"What?" Mary felt her face grow warm and the prickle of tears begin to sting the corner of her eyes. She let her skirt fall back down.

"Sally, did you see that? They looked like old lady bones."

"Be quiet, Christopher," Mary warned.

"What'll you do, run after me? You won't catch me." He turned around and began mimicking a slow hobble.

Mary growled and leapt at him, catching his shirt in her fist and dragging him down to the ground. She threw punches wildly**,** and could feel something wet beneath her fingertips. Over her own grunts and wails**,** she could make out the sound of Sally yelling in the background, the cries of seagulls circling the shoreline, and Christopher's own yells beneath her. Suddenly**,** she felt someone grab onto her shoulders and yank her away.

"What in heaven's name are you children doing?" It was Elizabeth**,** and she looked absolutely furious.

Christopher was still curled on the ground**,** his arm covering his face. Mary felt embarrassed as she took in the scratches on his arms and neck.

Elizabeth sucked in a shallow breath and bent down to inspect her son's injuries. "What happened?"

"It serves him right," Mary responded. She backed away quickly and then spun around**,** making her way past Beach Road and through the lots to Tanglewood. She burst through the front door of her home and slammed it shut behind her.

Marianne heard the commotion. "Mary, are you back already? What have I told you about slamming that door?"

There was no answer. Mary had gotten a look at herself in the mirror hanging in the hallway**,** and her words disappeared while she studied hair had snagged free of its braid**,** and it was pointing in every direction. Her cheeks were red, from the exertion or blows she wasn't sure, and her lips appeared swollen. The worst casualty was her dress. It had been a gift for her birthday**,** and now it was ripped at the bodice and the hips**,** while the skirt hung in tatters. The tears came slowly but surely**,** and it wasn't long before she was standing in the hallway**,** clutching her skirt in her fists and sobbing.

Marianne dropped the cake pan she was holding and ran towards the sound. "What in the world happened?"

After telling her mother what happened, omitting the part about the whole baby-making business, Mary wanted nothing more than to crawl into her arms and be comforted.

Instead**,** Marianne pointed up to the washroom. "You get yourself cleaned up. We're going to march right over to the Liddell's so you can apologize."

"But-"

"March!"

###

Cormack answered the door with an expression that hung between amused and angry. He glanced down at Mary and gave a snort.

Mary looked down at her shoes. She hadn't cleaned them up when she washed up**,** and they looked horrible against the shiny wood of the Liddell's porch. She began discreetly wiping them against the grain, delighting in the little mites of dirt that began to fall free.

"Mrs. Brandon," Cormack drawled, "it seems our two young'uns got into it today."

"I know**,** and Mary would like to apologize to Christopher."

There was a loud cough from above**,** and then the rat-tat-tap of feet pounding on the stairs. Christopher appeared behind his father, pouting, arms crossed angrily. He was more humiliated than in pain. Marianne pushed Mary forward and tapped her shoulder. "Go on."

"I am very sorry for what I did, Christopher." Mary recited without emotion.

Cormack shook his head and let out a laugh. "It does a boy good to get a little roughed up. Of course**,** I never thought it'd be from a girl." He directed his attention to Marianne. "I think your daughter could use some lessons on acting like a respectable lady."

Marianne tensed**,** and blushed in embarrassment. "Yes, well…"

Cormack's eyes lit up suddenly and he crossed his arms. "Say, is Jimmy entering the regatta?"

Marianne stumbled over an answer. "We're not the sailing type, Mr. Liddell."

"Good, because I am going to win this year." He let out a booming laugh, hands clasped over his expanding stomach.

"Actually, you're going to lose." Mary spoke so quietly the adults had barely heard her.

"What did she say?" Cormack asked.

"I-I'm not sure." Marianne answered.

Mary was standing on the Liddell's doorstep and yet, behind her eyelids, she was running alongside the shoreline, watching the boats race toward an invisible finish line. She saw the outcome already, months before they would hit the water. "You're going to lose," Mary repeated, staring into Mr. Liddell's eyes with such a ferocity it made him shudder.

"Mary Alice!" Marianne grabbed her daughter's wrist and pulled her away. She gave a nervous laugh. "I don't know what's gotten into her, Cormack."

Cormack's eyes narrowed and he held up his hand. "I'm not sure what is wrong with her, but it would do her well to be seen and not heard." He pushed Christopher back inside the house and, with an icy farewell, shut the door on them.

###

**September 1918 **

When Terrance won the regatta, most of the city rejoiced. They stood on the pier waving flags and banners, many of them hurrying over to congratulate Missy on her husband's win. Everyone knew he had been working on his boat for years**,** using mostly scrap wood and supplies from his carpentry jobs. The newspapers heralded the win as exciting and a sign of progress in the south, proof the underdog always had a chance.

Cormack Liddell thought it was bullshit.

"A negro. A goddamn negro." He slammed down his shot and let out a belch. He had unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt and sweat was dripping down his forehead. "Can you believe that?" he shouted. Several of the other patrons looked up from their drinks and shook their heads. Thomas Kent chuckled and sidled up to the man.

"C'mon, Cormack. He had a good boat, fair and square. I'm almost proud of Terry."

Cormack gave a grunt. "It had nothing to do with his goddamn boat. It was that damn Brandon girl."

"Marianne?"

"The little one. She stood right in my doorway and told me I was going to lose. It's like she put a spell on me, brainwashed me, or something."

Les, the bartender, raised an eyebrow and moved to the end of the bar. He put a hand over Cormack's glass and said, "I think you've had enough."

"Fuck off. You trying to tell me none of you have ever noticed anything peculiar about Mary Brandon?" Cormack jabbed a fat finger in Thomas' face**,** and turned in his seat to look at everyone in the room. "You keep an eye on her**,** gentlemen**,** and I promise you, you'll notice. She's a fucking freak," he declared. Then he pushed away Les' hand, threw his shot back, and asked for another.

###

Eugene DeWitt died in October; a German tank sent shells into the trench he was in and his body was flown in from Brest. A general visited the DeWitt home to notify the family and, when the door opened**,** he was greeted by ten wary pairs of eyes. Elena made her way forward. "Which one of my boys?" she asked, her trembling hands clutching the rosary around her neck. She didn't get an answer before her legs caved and she fell into the arms of her family.

Harry came back that following January along with forty other Biloxi boys. They were all alive and the happy cries from their families could be heard up and down the streets. Eventually the families dealt with the same heartbreak; their boys were back but not whole. Harry was now grim, sullen, withdrawn, and forever jumping at every snap, crackle, and pop that might be death coming to get him.

###

Paul didn't come back with the others. A week passed, then two, with no word. When Edith's most recent letter was returned to her as undeliverable, the space beneath her ribs began to throb and expand. Standing next to her mailbox on a chilly January day, she started to grieve.

Edith started seeing Paul from the corner of her eye wherever she went, as if his silhouette was burned onto her eyes. She imagined his arm was draped around her waist as she prepared dinner for one. She heard his laughter in the backyard while she trimmed the rose bushes. At random moments she would hear him say her name but it was always just the wind rushing in and out of the shutters.

On February 23, 1919, she always remembered the date, she saw him standing in the living room. He was dressed in uniform, worn duffel bag in his hand, his shoes polished and shining. His hair was short beneath his triangular cap and his blue eyes looked hungry. She paused for a moment, shook her head, and continued past him.

"Did I make you wait too long?" A gruff voice asked.

She whipped back around and covered her mouth with her hands. Paul lowered his duffel bag and held out both hands**,** pleading. "I know I was gone a long time**,** but if-"

"Oh god, you're real!" Edith whispered. She ran forward and leapt into his arms, nearly knocking him over. She peppered his face with kisses, whispering how much she missed him, how much she loved him. The house grew quiet as they both tried to slow their breathing. "Does your mother know? You need to go see your family."

"I did, honey, just for a moment. They know I'm back." Paul took in her longer hair and the sinew that replaced her once soft body. "I missed you so much." He moved backward and sat on the couch, holding her in his lap. She leaned forward and buried her face into his neck. He no longer smelled like the gulf; his scent was that of musk and cinnamon, something earthy and organic. She skimmed his jaw with her nose, then lifted her head and trailed her thumbs over the fine lines on his face, a small scar on his chin. She wiped under his eyes at the darkness there. He looked the same**,** but older, all lingering traces of boyhood finally gone.

Paul was watching her closely, his hands roaming over her shoulders, around her waist, before finally slipping under her skirt.

Edith kissed him. She wrapped her left hand around the back of his neck, using her other to fumble with the buttons on his shirt. Paul grew impatient and ripped the shirt open, the low clatter of buttons bouncing and rolling around on the floor loud in their ears.

"I'll mend it later." Edith whispered between kisses.

"Don't bother. I'm never wearing it again." He pulled back so he could look her in the eyes. Then he pushed her gently onto the couch and nothing else needed to be said.

###

**November 1919**

The signs were there but Edith was hesitant to acknowledge them. She kept it secret for as long as she could**,** but one lazy morning Paul noticed. He ran his hand over her stomach a few times before propping himself on his elbow and grinning.

"Honey, are we-"

"Don't!" Edith put her hand over his mouth. "Don't say it."

Paul frowned and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I thought you always wanted a baby."

" I do. But we've lost so many…" She trailed off and whimpered softly. "I don't want to even think about it until I'm further along, until I know for sure it'll keep."

Paul smiled and held up one hand in defeat. "If that's what you want. W-w-when can we start thinking about it?"

"May." Edith said decisively. Paul started to protest but she shushed him. "If it's still alright, we'll start getting everything ready in May. **If.**"

Edith was still pregnant in May.

Everyone saw the signs and tried to find polite ways to ask**,** but each time Edith would simply shake her head and say, "I will not speak about it yet."

Missy and Marianne began referring to the baby as the May baby, even when names were chosen. Around the end of the month, Paul invited all their friends over for "an exciting announcement". Sis, always the loudmouth, hung up her shawl and immediately whipped around, hands on her hips.

"Yes, yes, Edith is expecting. We _all know_, Paul." The guests laughed while Paul and Edith blushed. Mary Alice looked pensive and began swinging her legs in the plush chair she was sitting on.

An hour into the party, Edith caught her attention and pointed to the kitchen. She stirred the crawfish etouffee while Mary sniffed the air and made a show of rubbing her tummy.

"That smells good."

Edith looked at Mary out of the corner of her eye. "You seem quiet this evening. How do you feel about me having a baby?"

"Hmm. Okay, I s'pose." Mary folded her arms and leaned against the counter. "I wish my momma and daddy were having a baby."

"Oh." Edith cleared her throat and tapped her spoon against the side of the steel pot.

"Miss Edith, is your baby a boy or a girl?"

"I think it's a girl. Paul is hoping it's a boy."

"Oh. Do you know what you're going to name it?"

Edith nodded and turned to face her. "If it's a boy, it'll be named after Paul**,** of course. If it's a girl, I'm hoping to name her after my mother. Francine is a bit of a mouthful, though."

Mary stepped back and her eyes widened. "Francine?"

"That's right. I'll probably call her Franny for short. What do you think?"

Mary inched forward and placed one hand on Edith's belly**,** then the other. She let out a slow, calming breath and smiled, pressing her cheek over Edith's belly button.

"I think that I can't wait to meet her." she finally said.

"Neither can I."

###

Francine Coutu Dewitt was born on June 11th and weighed seven pounds, two ounces. Her mother was the first to hold her, followed by her father.

Then Mary held her**,** and never wanted to let her go.

* * *

**The history lesson: **

WWI ended on November 11, 1918. In January 1919, forty-five soldiers returned to Biloxi from their station in Brest, France. That's where I placed Harry. Paul was elsewhere which is why he didn't return with them.

WWI really helped push the suffrage movement into the spotlight. Not only did women step up to the plate and do their part for the war efforts, Wilson was under a lot of pressure. After the National Woman's Party staged protests, Wilson came out supporting the movement. He signed the bill in 1919 and it became law in 1920.

The Spanish Influenza made its way across the US around 1918 and killed about 50 million people worldwide. Twihards should know this; the Spanish Flu is what killed Edward Masen (er, before Carlisle did, anyway). Interestingly enough, common advice at the time was for people to spend more time outside "getting fresh air." This idea was popular in the gulf where the sea air was considered to be good for pulmonary ailments.

**Author's Note:**

I'm sorry about the length of time between chapters. Some of it was just plain RL stuff: I'm a full-time employee and student. A lot of it, however, actually has to do with writing too much. There are several pages of MFOG on the cutting room floor because they don't flow well with the rest of the story. I waste a lot of time trying to get these pieces to fit; these vignettes want to be told, it's just difficult to fit them into the outline.

In order to get these all out without ruining my flow, I'm starting an outtake fic. It'll be called "Give Us This Day" and will be mostly drabbles that didn't quite work in the main story. You don't have to read the outtakes in order to know what's going on; MFOG will still be a complete story on its own.

Alright, I'm done blabbing. Next chapter we see more of...William and Mary _together_? Oh my.

Reviewers get a tease and some pickled watermelon rinds.


	7. Ain't We Got Fun?

In between the last chapter and this one, my beloved_ papi_ was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He fought bravely but ultimately went gently into that good night near the end of March.

Thank you to my readers for being supportive and patient through this extremely difficult time for me. I know you guys have been waiting for this chapter a long time; I can't in good faith commit to a posting schedule but **I have no intention of flouncing from MFoG. **Thank you to my betas for being the shiznit, as always. Thank you to His Golden Eyes, UU, The_gazebo and all the other blogs that have pimped my shit. I appreciate all of you so very much.

Disclaimer: SMeyers owns Alice and Twilight. I own the rest.

* * *

###

**June 23th, 1920**

"I'm going to drop her."

"You're not going to drop her."

"Are you sure I am holding her right?"

"You're doing _fine_."

Mary shifted the sleeping newborn in her arms and held her breath; Francine was so tiny, fragile, and wrinkled than she would have thought possible. Even thought she loved holding her, it was nerve wracking. She stiffly eased herself further back into the overstuffed chair that sat next to the crib in the nursery. The entire room had been painted robin egg's blue with a poster of constellations hanging over the crib.

"So that she could always reach for the stars," Edith explained as she rolled her eyes. "Clearly the whole room was Paul's idea. He was so eager for a son." She gave a great yawn and rolled her shoulders. Mary could see she was tired.

"My momma told me I should give you and the baby time to rest. Do you want me to go? I could go-"

"I'd never ask you to leave my home, you know that."

"But shouldn't you be sitting? You're probably much more tired than I am—"

"Mary." Edith gave a warm smile**,** which Mary returned. She instantly relaxed her hold and raised a hand to the baby's cheek. "Francine," she cooed, "That's such a pretty name."

"I hope she thinks so."

Someone in the room softly snapped their fingers. Mary looked up to find Paul standing near the door**,** with his new Brownie camera in hand. "Hi, Mary."

Edith noticed the camera immediately. "Oh, Paul, why don't you take a picture of the girls?"

Paul shrugged and looked around the dim nursery. "It's supposed to be used outside only**,** but there's no harm in trying."

Edith rushed over to the windows and pulled the curtains open to let sunlight into the room. Paul smiled and kissed his wife on the cheek before walking to the center of the room, hiking up his pants, and crouching in front of the girls.

"Smile, ladies," Paul instructed. He pushed the lever until the click resonated through the room.

###

**July 27th, 1921**

She wasn't in Biloxi anymore, that much she was certain of.

Mary let out several shaky breaths and watched them come out in smoky-gray puffs that spiraled toward the corn field she was facing.

"Momma?"

It was dark and freezing cold. She was in her thin nightgown**,** though she had no recollection of putting it on. She had no recollection of how she got there at all, wherever _there_ was. Her feet were bare**,** and the pebbled soil felt icy beneath her skin. As she bounced back and forth to keep warm, she realized the crunching of the earth underneath was the only sound she heard. There were no seagulls or insects, no taste of the ocean in the air. She turned around and saw there was a vast nothing behind her; a darkness that crept closer as if wishing to swallow her whole.

She whipped back toward the corn field and ran in blindly, holding her arms out to clear her path. "Hello?" she called out. "Anyone?"

She tripped over her feet and hit the ground, her knees first, then her forehead. She lay dazed for a moment before curling up on the dry ground and folding her arms around her knees. "Please," she whimpered, "Is anyone there?"

There was a rustling far away that crept closer until it was near her feet. She perched her upper body up and looked out between the stalks; there**,** she saw red eyes open and shift in and out of focus, like flames rising up from the darkness.

"Someone help me," she whispered, as she closed her eyes and let it overcome her.

When Mary came to, she was already standing. A pile of corn was on display in front of her; the hand painted sign stating "10 for $.30." Her body felt numb**, **all the way to her toes . She glanced down and wiggled them slowly, eventually kicking away the few ears that had spilled onto the floor at her feet. She heard a soft moan and looked to her right. Her mother was kneeling on the floor, eyes wide and searching her daughter's face.

"Mary Alice, _for Heaven's sake_," she begged.

Mary blinked several times and ran her tongue over her dry lips. She remembered now; she had accompanied her mother to the market to buy tomatoes for dinner. _And then the cornfield just came…_She turned around and noticed a small group of shoppers standing behind them**, **whispering back and forth. She recognized them all; Missy was front and center, hands clasped in front of her face and her mouth trembling with prayer.

"Momma?"

Marianne sighed with relief and leaned back on her heels. She forced a smile to the crowd and stood up, shaking the threads of corn husk from her skirt.

"Why is everyone staring at us?" Mary whispered.

Marianne exhaled forcibly and waved the crowd away. "She's fine, everyone. This girl's got her head in the clouds is all." She waited until the crowd dispersed before she turned back to Mary and narrowed her eyes. "Where were you?"

Mary bit the inside of her cheek and shook her head. "You were with me. I was right here."

"No, you weren't."

"But…"

"Never mind."

On the way home, Mary sniffled and roughly wiped the tears from her eyes. She couldn't handle the way her mother stopped every few steps, looking back at her as if she'd never seen her before.

###

A week later, Dr. Sumner Abbott arrived at the Brandon home. He knocked twice**,** and then adjusted his wrist cuffs. He was smirking; there were no fewer than four neighbors peeking from their windows or craning their necks from their porches. When he waved at someone, everyone shrunk back**,** and there was a harmony of doors closing and curtains swishing back into place.

_This is certainly interesting,_ he thought. _There must be a scandal._

He hadn't noticed the door open when Marianne grabbed his forearm and pulled him into the house without a word. Once inside**,** she simply stood there, staring, mouth opening and closing like a fish's.

"Mrs. Brandon?"

"Yes?" She seemed surprised he could speak.

"You asked me to come out today…" Dr. Abbott prodded.

"Yes. It's the only day Jimmy is working late." Another silence followed.

"Jimmy? Is that your husband?"

Marianne nodded and swallowed thickly. "We haven't seen a doctor since Dr. Miller retired. I'm afraid we're desperately in need of your services." Suddenly remembering her manners, she gestured for Dr. Abbott to follow her into the sitting room. Once they were settled, Marianne cleared her throat and continued. "I've asked you here to see to my daughter, Mary."

"What symptoms has she been experiencing?"

"She's been…hm…she's been daydreaming."

The doctor let out a chuckle and straightened his spectacles. "That's hardly cause for concern. How old is she?"

"She will be ten this October."

"Mrs. Brandon, she's a young girl. Daydreaming, while it may seem strange to observe, is quite normal."

"No," Marianne argued. "This is not normal. I never daydreamed like this." Marianne slid to the edge of her seat. "It's almost as if Mary completely disappears into that head of hers. You can budge her, shake her, holler her name, but she doesn't hear or feel." Marianne poured the doctor a cup of tea**,** and then tried sipping her own. After spilling some down her blouse and then burning her tongue, she slammed the saucer on the coffee table.

Dr. Abbott raised his eyebrows and crossed his legs. "This has you upset."

"I'm not a foolish mother seeing problems where there aren't any. What is happening to my daughter is not normal."

"Why don't you tell me about the last incident?"

"It was last Thursday. We were at the market**,** picking up some things I for dinner. She stopped in front of the corn so suddenly**,** I almost tripped over her-she's a very small thing for her age. I thought she wanted some corn for supper. She doesn't like a lot of vegetables, you know, but corn she likes quite a bit." Marianne grabbed a napkin and began twisting it in her hands. "She didn't want corn. For some reason, and I don't know why, she stopped and stared at that display for ten minutes. _Ten minutes_, Doctor. She didn't even blink. I tried everything to get her to respond but nothing I did worked. Oh, everyone _saw_, Dr. Abbott."

"Did she say anything during the episode?"

"Not a thing. Toward the end**,** she reached out and knocked some of the vegetables down. When she awoke**,** she hadn't the slightest idea that anything out of the ordinary had happened."

Dr. Abbott had pulled out a notepad sometime during the story**,** and was scribbling furiously. He stopped briefly to pull at his mustache and purse his lips. "Has she ever had these daydreams before?"

"It's been over a year since I noticed the first funny one. Sometimes she says the most peculiar things…" Marianne drifted off before Dr. Abbott cleared his throat. "I ignored it for a very long time."

"Does she have any illnesses, ailments, abnormalities?"

"She had the rickets."

There was a beat of silence and the soft shuffling of papers. "Is there a history of seizures on the father's side?"

"Seizures?" Marianne cleared her throat. "Not that I know of."

"How about on your side of the family?"

Marianne paused, her tongue resting behind her upper teeth. She had been ready to say "no" when she realized something that had long slipped her mind; she wasn't Mary's mother. She had cared for her as if she was her own**,** but it was Edith's history that coursed through Mary's veins**;** a history Marianne had no knowledge of. "I should have asked."

"Pardon?"

Marianne realized the young doctor was staring at her, pen poised above paper.

"I should have asked my mother, I mean." She wiped absentmindedly at her neck and tried to control the quiver in her chin. "I'm sorry, Dr. Abbott. I'm not really sure."

"Mrs. Brandon**,** why did you request me as your doctor?"

"I told you**,** Dr. Miller—"

"—Retired, yes. But he named a successor to his practice. Why not Dr. Locke?"

Marianne was now folding and unfolding the napkin repeatedly. "I heard you had more experience with illnesses of the head. That's what this is, isn't it?"

Dr. Abbott gave a slight nod and scribbled something down on his pad. "Where's Mary now?"

"Upstairs, in her bedroom. Why do you ask?"

"I'd like to speak to her."

From the moment Mary entered the sitting room, she knew she wouldn't like Dr. Abbott. He smelled of cough syrup and his short hair looked greasy. His suit was horribly tailored and ill-fitting**,** with nothing extraordinary about it at all. When she took his outreached hand, his touch lingered a bit too long**,** and he appraised the white summer gown she was wearing a bit too closely. Mary pulled her hand away and gave it a quick shake, wishing she could run upstairs and wash the feeling of his fingers off.

"Good afternoon, Miss Mary. My name is Dr. Abbott."

"Hello, Doctor."

"Your mother tells me you've been under the weather lately."

_Does he twirl that ridiculous mustache at the end of each sentence? _"I've been feeling just fine."

"Is that right? Why don't you sit down and tell me about yourself?" _Twirl._

"If my mother says it's okay."

Marianne nodded. "I'll go into the kitchen so the doctor can speak to you privately. Feel free to speak freely with him."

Mary fought back a sinking feeling as she watched her mother leave the room. The doctor pulled his large tan bag onto the coffee table and pulled out a stethoscope. He placed the black tips into his ears and blew softly into the round end. "Have you ever seen one of these before?"

Mary nodded, and stayed absolutely still as he listened to her heartbeat and lungs under the fabric of her dress. She watched Dr. Abbott's hands wearily; his touch made her uncomfortable. She tried to keep her breath from catching, and was sure her heartbeat was much too fast.

After prodding her twisted knees and making her stick out her tongue, Dr. Abbott put his tools back into his bag and took a seat again.

"Your mother tells me you like to daydream."

"Sometimes."

"What do you dream about?"

"Lots of things."

"Such as?"

"School. Having a dog." Mary bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out of nervousness.

"Do you find something humorous?"

"No."

Dr. Abbott reached out to grasp Mary's chin. "It's not polite to keep jokes from company."

There it was; the nothingness in the cornfield was tucked inside the cuffs of Dr. Abbott's shirt. Mary sucked in a shallow breath and stared intently at the scratched**,** gold-plated cuff-links that adorned his wrists. "Can you please not touch me, doctor?" Her voice trembled.

"Mary?"

She set her lips in a tight line and didn't answer, wishing that he'd let her go. After a few moments**, **he moved his hand and reached for something in his pocket. He handed her a cherry lollipop; she pushed it under the seat cushions while he was preoccupied with writing in his notepad. Dr. Abbott began muttering to himself**, **stopping only to stare at her. His eyes were pleading, manic, _excited_.

"What did you see?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You saw something, just now when I touched your face. What did you see?"

Mary's throat was suddenly parched. She licked the space between her lips and front teeth. "I saw your hand."

Dr. Abbott peeked at her over his glasses and set the notebook on his lap. "Just my hand?"

"Yes."

"Do you ever see spots or bright colors?"

"Only if my dress has such a pattern." This time, Mary bit the inside of her lip to refrain from being rude.

Dr. Abbott closed his notebook with a sigh, and placed it into his pocket. "You can leave now, Mary. Please ask your mother to come back into the room alone."

By the time Marianne made it back, the doctor was already standing, hat and jacket in hand.

"Are you leaving already?" Her voice had an edge of hysteria to it. She flapped her hands nervously before tucking them into her apron pockets. "Didn't you find anything wrong?"

Dr. Abbott clucked his tongue and handed her a sheet of paper. "You daughter is suffering from _petit mals_."

The statement was so deceivingly simple, Marianne wasn't sure it was a diagnosis at all. She pressed a hand to her throat and struggled to find a reply. "What does that mean?"

"Your daughter, Mrs. Brandon, has been having _petit mal_ seizures. It's a form of epilepsy**,** without any sort of jerking or thrashing. They last for only a few moments, most less than a minute. She had one while I was speaking to her." He paused to twirl his mustache again. "Either way**,** Mary is simply in her own world for a moment. When she comes back, and she will, she won't even notice she had missed a thing."

"But at the market…"

"That was a rare occurrence. Most won't last nearly as long." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Will she…I mean, is she…" Marianne sunk into the nearest seat and began fanning herself furiously. "Doctor, what should I do?"

"On that sheet are the names and information for two very skilled facilities. They're much better prepared than I am**, **and I suggest having her treated as an outpatient in either of them. If the seizures get worse, one of those facilities could also take her in long-term."

"Long-term? Could they get that bad?"

"There is always a chance of epilepsy worsening after puberty but in my experience, petit mals rarely do." Dr. Abott studied Marianne's grief-stricken face and sighed. "I treat a boy in Ocean Springs with Jacksonian epilepsy. He experiences violent jerks frequently, and rarely leaves his bedroom due to the horrible fatigue. Can you imagine that, Mrs. Brandon? A child who has to stay in all the time?"

Marianne stood after a moment. "Yes," she deadpanned, "I suppose that would be dreadful."

When Jimmy arrived from work that evening, Marianne had a thick stew simmering on the stove. He followed the scent into the kitchen and lifted the cover to take a big whiff. "Oxtail? In the middle of the week? What a surprise, darling! Should I go get Mary?"

Marianne shook her head and nodded toward his usual seat. "I'd like to speak to you alone first. I had a doctor come by to see Mary."

Jimmy sat and tucked his napkin into his shirt. "Is she alright?"

Marianne retold the story one more time**,** and cringed when Jimmy slammed his fist down on the table.

"And you didn't think to mention any of this to me beforehand?" he bellowed.

"For Heaven's sake, keep your voice down." They both looked up at the ceiling and waited for the tapping of Mary's feet on the stairs. When none came**,** they sighed and simultaneously leaned back in their chairs.

"So what did the doctor say?" Jimmy gently pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes**,** while his wife explained the seizures and what they were. "Was he absolutely sure? They could just be daydreams."

"You didn't see this one, Jimmy. It was terrifying. It's like our daughter wasn't there." She pushed a glass of lemonade across the table and waited for him to take a sip. "I trust the doctor."

Jimmy shook his head several times before dropping his shoulders in defeat.

"What did the doctor say we should do?"

Marianne was waiting for this. She took a deep breath, rested her palms on the table, and looked straight into Jimmy's eyes.

"He insisted I have her excused from school and keep her in the house."

Jimmy raised his eyebrows. "No."

"Jimmy-"

"I won't have our daughter miss out on an education. It's against the law**,** anyway."

"There are plenty of ways to get around those laws and you know it. I can teach her plenty her at home."

"I said no."

Marianne ground her teeth together and exhaled sharply through her nose. She thought for a moment. "The doctor says it'll get worse when she reaches adolescence."

"Your point being?"

"She can continue school for now and only miss days she's not feeling well. If it gets worse as she gets older, I get to keep her home."

"We'll have to wait and see, Marianne." But even as he said this, he gave a nod. It was slight**,** but it was there all the same.

###

Dr. Abbott visited Mary six more times at Marianne's request. During each visit**,** she saw the black again**;** the thick, null void that lingered near his fingertips. Whenever she was in its presence**,** she stayed perfectly still and pretended they were playing a game; if she didn't move, the darkness couldn't find her.

Jimmy came home for lunch one day**,** and that is how he found her; sitting on the very edge of the sofa, skin paler than usual, eyes glued to a spot on the ceiling. Her fear, thick and paralyzing, was palpable.

"What the hell is going on here?" he exclaimed.

Dr. Abbott jumped and removed the hearing ends of the stethoscope from his ears. "You must be Mr. Brandon."

Jimmy narrowed his eyes and moved to stand in between his daughter and the doctor. "I asked a question."

"I am doing a basic examination." Dr. Abbott held out the end of the stethoscope. "I was checking her heartbeat and breathing as I do at the beginning of every visitation."

Jimmy narrowed his eyes and jabbed his finger into the doctor's chest. "You stay right there." Turning around, he lifted Mary into his arms and carried her into the kitchen. He set her down on the table and looked her over quickly. Not noticing a hair out of place, he leaned forward so he could look into her eyes.

"What's wrong, darling?"

"Nothing is wrong, daddy."

"Did that doctor do anything…funny to you?"

"No, daddy. Really, he didn't."

"Then why do you look frightened?"

Mary shook her head and focused on the wall behind her father. "He can be scary sometimes."

"How so?"

At this, Mary began to cry. She didn't know why she was crying, only that she felt saddened without reason. For Jimmy, it was all he needed. He straightened up and loosened his tie. "Where in the world is your mother?"

"In the backyard putting the bedclothes to dry."

Jimmy told her to stay exactly where she was and exited the kitchen, closing the door behind him. He walked into the sitting room and didn't spare any words. "I want you to listen closely: Pack up your things and leave this house. God help you if I ever see you anywhere near my daughter again."

Dr. Abbott stuttered before collecting himself. "Sir, I think you are confused-"

Jimmy's fist flew before he gave it any thought. It connected with Dr. Abbott's jaw and sent the smaller man back into the sofa. For a moment**,** the doctor lay sprawled there, gasping for breath, with his glasses askew on his face. His eyes moved wildly between Jimmy and the door. Sensing he had the chance to flee, he grabbed his bag and flew out the door, leaving it swaying back and forth on its hinges. Marianne had heard the commotion and entered the room just in time to see Dr. Abbott run off.

"Jimmy!" She dropped the linen she was holding and looked torn between going to her husband and chasing after the doctor. Deciding to stay, she closed the front door and turned on her husband. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

Back in the kitchen, Mary winced at her parents' fighting. She hopped off the table and peeked out into the sitting room. Her mother was in the center, one hand on her hip, the other rubbing her face. Her father was next to the small liquor cabinet, pouring himself a small glass of amber liquid.

"This is not up for discussion, Marianne. My word is final."

Mary cleared her throat and stood behind the door so her parents wouldn't see her. "Daddy?" she called, "May I go visit Miss Edith and Francine?"

"No—"

Jimmy cut Marianne off. "Of course. Just return in time for supper."

Marianne gave a strangled cry and Mary quickly closed the door to the dining room. She ran out the back way, through the side yard, and up Edith's front porch with her hands over her ears.

###

**October 3rd 1921**

"Oh no no no no! Francine!" Mary tugged the paper dress out of the baby's hold. It was wrinkled and ripped and covered in some spots with drool. "Ew." She wrinkled her face and tossed the destroyed garment to the side. "Francine, you have to be delicate with these."

Edith laughed heartily from her seat on the sofa and crossed her ankles. "Babies can't play with paper, Mary. They don't know how to _be_ delicate."

"Well, how can to teach her about the importance of proper attire?"

Edith raised an eyebrow. "What in the world is Marianne teaching you?" she muttered under her breath. "You can teach her those sorts of things when she's older." Edith eyed Mary's pout and decided to change the topic. "So, you're going to be eleven soon. Are you excited?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't think it will feel very different. Thirteen or fourteen seem much more important than eleven."

"But how do you get to thirteen without eleven?"

Mary chewed thoughtfully on her thumbnail. "I suppose you don't."

"Then I s'pose eleven is just as important as thirteen. But if you think differently, I can always return your gift." Edith laughed as Mary jumped up and began hopping in place.

"Oh, Miss Edith, may I see it now? Please?"

Edith nodded and, after putting Francine back in her bassinet, returned with a thick yellow envelope. "Here you go."

Mary lifted the flap carefully and shook out the contents onto the coffee table. Once they were all out, she stared at the different magazine pages in awe. _So many colors… _"You saved all these Lettie Lane pages for me?"

"Yes, and some of the Polly Pratt ones as well. You like your Suzy so much; I thought you would like her to have a friend."

"Oh, Miss Edith…"

Mary couldn't wait to show off her gift. She showed off the pages right before dinner, waving them under her mother's face. "Look what Edith got me for my birthday!"

Marianne held a page closer to examine it. "What are these?"

"Lettie Lane. They're paper dolls that used to come every month in magazines. Edith saved them all for me, momma. Isn't that wonderful? I think it's the best gift I've ever gotten."

"Well, I think it's ridiculous. You're too old for paper dolls." Marianne slid the page back across the table and waved her hand. "Go put those silly things away and wash up for supper."

###

**December 12th 1921**

Christmas was Mary's favorite holiday. It started the day after Thanksgiving when Jimmy, Mary, and Marianne would go over to Sal's lot next to the DuKate cannery. During the winter Sal brought in Christmas trees**,** and throughout the season wives would drag their families out to select the very best, while in the background smoke billowed just a few feet away.

Mary sniffed and scrunched up her face. "Won't the tree smell like fish?"

Her parents ignored her as they eyed the trees, Jimmy with weary eyes and Marianne with the sharpness of a perfectionist. She always chose a spruce**, **"Because it's what we've always had," she mumbled**,** as she measured a contender for the prime place by the hearth. "This one is too wide," she moaned. After looking at fifteen trees, Marianne finally chose one and arranged for it to be delivered.

While waiting at home, the boxes of ornaments were brought down. "Now be careful. I've had some of these longer than I've had you." Jimmy chuckled and Marianne narrowed her eyes at him. "Either one of you." Mary snickered and elbowed her father, who merely shook his head and reached into one of the boxes. Mary hummed in excitement as each ornament was unwrapped. Most of them she remembered from the year prior**,** and she took pleasure in recalling her own memories attached. She looked through the boxes one by one until she came across a box that didn't hold ornaments at all.

"Daddy, I think you brought down my old baby stuff." She held out a small blue sweater to her body and laughed. "Where did this come from?"

Marianne's eyes widened. "Oh…" She grabbed the sweater with trembling fingers and turned it this way and that, smoothing the stitches where they had gotten caught. "This, dear, was something I knitted while I was pregnant."

"With me?"

Jimmy cleared his throat and patted his knees. "I don't think we should talk about this."

"She should know about him—"

"No."

"Jimmy—"

"Goddamn it, Marianne."

Mary stilled when she heard her father's rough whisper. She had never heard her father swear before**,** nor had she ever heard him speak that way to anyone, save Dr. Abbott. Marianne sucked in a deep breath and tucked the folded sweater back into the box. "Never mind. Finish unpacking the ornaments." She stood and left the room.

Mary frowned and looked up at her father from her seat on the floor. "Daddy?" She quickly whipped her head around and closed her eyes. She rummaged through the nearest box blindly until she felt her father stir behind her and heard his footsteps climb the stairs.

She had never seen her father cry before.

###

On Christmas Day, Mary woke up early. _Drats,_ she thought**,** as she looked out her window at the black sky. _**Too**__ early_. She threw herself back on the mattress and held onto her bed sheets tightly, counting sheep until she reached three hundred. Then she tried singing down bottles of beer until she had none. Just as she was about to sing about having a lamb, her door opened.

"We can hear you, you know."

Mary blushed and ducked under her covers. "Sorry, Momma." She heard Marianne sigh and tap her foot.

"Well, since your father and I are up anyway…"

Mary bolted out of her room before her mother could change her mind. She took the steps two-by-two ignoring**,** the admonishment from Marianne. Her father, meanwhile, was already in the sitting room, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Merry Christmas, Daddy!"

This was the first Christmas Mary had been a giver as well as a receiver. She squealed and squirmed in her chair as her parents opened their gift from her, a frame with a picture of Mary inside.

"Mr. DeWitt took the picture and Edith helped me with the frame."

"Thank you, darling, we love it!"

Jimmy had gotten his wife a pair of earrings and Marianne had gotten him a tie and socks. Mary pretended to be interested**,** but she kept glancing over at the wrapped box that was still waiting under the tree. _Surely, that one is for me!_

Jimmy grabbed the last box and frowned at the tag. "I think this box is for Santa." Mary raised an eyebrow and leaned over to look.

"Daddy, it's _from_ Santa to me!" Mary ripped the paper off eagerly and lifted the cover off the cardboard box underneath. Inside the box was a doll, an Effanbee, with a frilly yellow dress and brown curls. Mary lifted her carefully out of the box and glanced over at her parents.

"It's a doll," she stated dumbly. She turned her over every which way and cocked her head. She couldn't imagine playing with this doll more than with her Suzy or Lettie paper ones. Hadn't her mother said she was too old for dolls anyway?

"Her name is Mary Jane**,** but you can change that."

Mary was so entranced, she didn't realize Marianne had crouched in front of the tree and was pulling yet another box out from underneath.

"This goes with the doll, I believe. Santa left me a note saying so."

Mary opened this box more slowly. She peeled back layers of tissue paper**,** until she realized that's not what she was touching.

"Momma?" Her voice hitched. Inside the box were several yards of scrap fabric and trimming. As she moved her hands between the neat squares, her fingers made contact with a small bag.

"Those are buttons," Marianne chirped. "I think it's time you learned to properly sew."

"You're going to teach me?"

"That's what Mary Jane is for. I learned to hem my father's pants but I thought you would like to jump right into making doll dresses."

"Oh, Mom…" Mary rubbed her thumb and forefinger on one of the fabrics and closed her eyes. She grinned, then jumped up from her seat and threw her arms around her mother's waist.

**###**

**March 13th, 1925**

Everyone was surprised when bedwettin' Beth Liddell was the first to grow breasts. When the children stumbled out of their winter hibernation in their spring skin, the mousy brunette was changed. Her mother tried in vain to hide the changes with frills and fabric**,** but it was impossible; her shirts strained against her chest and, because she was an inch taller, her skirts now showed the slightest hint of calf. The truth was impossible to deny:

In the last days of winter of 1925, Beth Liddell had become a woman.

All the other girls began to follow suit and began to speak of bust sizes and stuffing rags in their knickers. Mary nodded as if she understood, but her chest had barely begun to grow and she hadn't gotten any signs of her period at all. To her, nothing had changed at all…until the afternoon she noticed the new and improved William Reed playing softball. He had grown three inches seemingly overnight**,** and his lanky frame held hidden sinew and strength. He had filled out his clothing**,** and Mary parted her lips when she noticed the cloth strain against his shoulders. When he threw the softball at another boy, Mary let out a small gasp and then covered her face in embarrassment. She peeked between her fingers after a moment**, **and saw William was looking right at her.

_Oh no._ She forced a wave and he broke out into a smile.

After signaling the team to take a break**,** he wandered over and stood at the stoop of her front porch. "Hello, Mary Alice." His toothy grin still held its childlike charm.

She squeaked out a greeting and gestured for him to sit beside her. They made small talk of school and their friends before she felt his fingertips brush against her knuckles. She took in a staggered breath and mustered up the courage to discretely caress the inside of his wrist. He smelled like her father's shaving cream and, as she peered closer, she could see tell-tale nicks on his chin.

"Your collar needs mending," she whispered. She pointed to the fraying seam. "You could-if your mother is too busy, I mean- you could drop it off and I can mend it for you."

William grinned and leaned forward. "I'd appreciate that, Mary."

"You know, William—"

"The game's starting, Willy!"

_Damn you, Mickey. _Mary frowned at the kid waving William back into the game.

"I guess they need me back." William stood and tapped his fingers nervously against the railing. He walked away a few feet then abruptly turned around. "I'd like to see more of you."

"Oh." Mary blushed and tried to hide her massive grin. "That sounds like a reasonable request."

"How about you and I go down to the docks tomorrow? We could grab some shaved ice from Lou's. Sally and Beth can come, of course. Perhaps Mickey and Christopher as well?"

"I…I'll ask my mother if that's alright."

"Then I will call on you tomorrow afternoon."

William ran back to finish his softball game. During the last inning**,** he tapped his bat on the tar and smiled back at Mary. "This next home run's for Mary Alice," he exclaimed, loud enough for her to hear. He swung his bat and, with an earsplitting crack, hit the ball clear over the Thomas' house and out of sight.

###

She knew without a doubt it was the same cornfield she had been in years before.

Mary was wearing the nightgown she had worn to bed that evening, and her feet were once again bare. This time she didn't bother turning around; she knew the void was inching toward her. She walked slowly into the field, trying to keep the panic from rising into her throat and escalating to a scream. She hadn't been paying attention when her big toe hit something warm and firm . She jumped back in shock. "What in the world?"

At her feet was a young man. He looked right at home on the ground, legs crossed lazily and hands clasped behind his head. He appeared asleep, maybe dead, until he opened one eye, one _red_ eye, to see who roused him from his nap.

"You're still here?" Mary asked in amazement. Suddenly remembering she should be frightened, she backed up further and sank into the rows of corn, letting the stalks settle into place and hide her. She watched as the man uncrossed his arms and sat up. He wiped his hands on his trousers and looked around, fixing his gaze to where Mary was hiding.

"I'm terribly sorry if I startled you, ma'am."

"It's quite alright," Mary whispered. She didn't move out from the row, and, after a while, the man stood and walked away until he was out of her sight.

Mary awoke to a sharp pain in her abdomen. She gave an unintelligible cry and rolled over, bringing her legs up into a fetal position. "Momma!" she cried. It felt like someone was squeezing her from the inside out. She tried to remember what she had eaten but it was all her mother's cooking. _No one else has gotten sick, have they?_ She gasped for air and stayed perfectly still for a few moments until the pain begin to dissipate. She felt the need to use the bathroom but as she pulled off her bed covers, her fingers met wetness. "Momma!" she yelled again. "I think I had an accident."

She sat in the darkness until Marianne rushed in and turned on the lights. "What happened? Oh, Mary."

With the lights on**,** Mary realized she hadn't wet the bed at all; the sheets were stained a reddish brown. She scrambled off the bed and looked down at her nightgown.

"Oh, look!" she cried happily. "Mom, I've finally-" Mary's smile fell as she looked at her mother's face.

Marianne was leaning heavily against the door, looking positively horrified.

* * *

**History (and other) Lessons:**

Lettie Lane was a paper doll published in Good Housekeeping and other magazines up until 1915. Each issue featured sheets of clothing and friends you could cut out. Some people still collect these.

Effanbee was a doll manufacturer. Their Mary Jane was a very popular 18" doll with removable dress.

I know it can be hard to follow the ages: By the end of this chapter Mary is fourteen and William is fifteen. The rest of the regulars (Sally, Beth, Christopher, Mickey, etc) are also around these ages.

In the next chapter we will see more relationships develop. Reviewers get a teaser and a bowl of oxtail stew.


	8. I'll See You In My Dreams

Thank you to all the readers who sent wonderful words of support regarding the death in my family, as well as wonderful reviews. I appreciate all of you very much. Thank you to Beth and killerlashes for being the greatest betas in the history of betadom. You ladies rock the casbah.

Long A/N at the bottom.

SMeyers owns Twilight. I own this story and an enormous supply of shrinky dinks.

* * *

**March 14****th,**** 1925**

Mary was in pain. Her thighs and calves were sore, her shoulders felt tense. There were streaks of dried blood on her bed sheets and on the skirt of her nightgown. She bunched the latter with both her hands and raised it up, nearly to her hips, to look down at her thighs. There were several long scratches. She ran her tongue repeatedly over her dry lips. "Momma?"

Marianne lifted her head and shook it slowly. She moaned and let her head fall back and hit the door with a thud. "It's too soon."

"Momma, I hurt myself."

Marianne took a sharp breath through her teeth. She hurried over and swatted Mary's hands away. "Were you having a seizure?"

"No. I don't have those kinds of seizures, remember?" Mary closed her eyes. She tried to recall her dream but all she remembered was a flash of blond hair..."I think I was just dreaming."

"Clean yourself up in the bathroom. When you're done, your father and I will be in the kitchen."

"Daddy? What does he have to do with this?"

But Marianne had already gone.

For the first time ever, Mary locked the bathroom door. _Things are so different now,_ she thought. She pulled her nightgown up and over her head and let it fall to the floor. There was no mirror in the bathroom, but Mary could see her reflection on a silver tray crammed with her mother's toiletries. She removed all of her mother's creams and lotions and set them aside, promising herself to try them later. She held the tray up to her face and stared. Her cheeks looked just a little bit thinner, as if the chubbiness of youth had melted away in one night. She made a fish face, sucking in her cheeks and turning her face left and right to see. She used her free hand to bunch her long black hair together and bring it over her shoulder; it trailed down to her chest and past the edge of the reflection. Mary pulled the tray down a little lower, blushing as she caught a glimpse of her small breasts. Embarrassment overcame her; she put the tray back as it was and turned to the basin to wash up.

Downstairs, Marianne was waiting at the dining room table for Jimmy. She had awakened him by shaking him until he came to, and then had promptly run out of the room. Her mind was a jumbled mess, and it was all due to the stain on Mary's sheets.

Jimmy walked in, rubbing his eyes and yawning wide. Before he could focus, Marianne had launched herself into his arms. She started crying, loud, god-awful sobs, and buried her head into his neck.

"She's going to get sicker!"

"Who is? What's going on? Where's Mary?"

"Taking a bath."

"At this hour?" Jimmy supposed he said the wrong thing because Marianne became hysterical again. He tried to pry her away so he could look into her eyes but she wouldn't budge. He sighed deeply and began rocking back and forth, making soothing shushing sounds as he did. "Marianne, please."

She finally took a step back. "It's Mary...she's going to get worse, I know it."

"Why?"

"Because the doctor said the seizures might get worse during adolescence. She's going to be fifteen this year and I knew...but I didn't...and I thought perhaps..."

Jimmy placed both hands on his wife's cheeks. He brushed the tears away softly. "Darling, you're losing me here. Take a deep breath and start from the beginning."

Mary chose that moment to enter. She walked stiffly over to the chair at the head of the table and sat down gingerly. Marianne hastily wiped the rest of her tears away and beckoned for Jimmy to sit down next to her on the side. Mary looked between her father and mother; They both looked weary and her mother still looked scared. She didn't understand at all.

"Mother?"

"Yes, Mary?" Marianne's eyes narrowed and she lifted her chin. "Did you call me mother?"

"'Momma' seems too immature now that I'm…older."

"Why...Well...Mary!" Marianne huffed and ran her fingertips over her eyebrows. "This child," she sighed under her breath.

Jimmy rapped his knuckles lightly on the table and sighed. "Would one of you please tell me what in the world is going on?"

"I'm a woman now, daddy." Mary blushed but she fought the urge to duck her head. Instead she rolled her shoulders back, took a deep breath, and lifted her chin. "I had my first menstruation tonight."

Jimmy wheezed, coughed, and thumped his chest with his fist before letting a slew of curses fly.

"_Jimmy!"_

"Sorry, darlings. Sorry." Jimmy took a deep, calming breath. "What I mean to say is...I think this is a discussion you should have with your mother." He moved to stand but Marianne grasped her hand in his.

"Actually, your father and I both have something to tell you."

_Oh no, __the __**talk**__._ When Sally began menstruating, Mrs. LeMaine sat her down for an explanation of chastity and virtue. The discussion took over an hour and poor Sally wouldn't stop bringing it up for weeks. Mary was expecting the same talk from her parents but she was very wrong.

"We're pulling you out of school," Marianne said.

"What?" Jimmy and Mary exclaimed simultaneously.

Marianne looked between the two, not sure who to start with. She squeezed Jimmy's hand comfortingly but narrowed her eyes. "We decided this some time ago-"

"We did no such thing," he interrupted.

"Yes, we did. I told you I wanted to keep her home with me once she reached her maturity-"

"I think she's hardly mature-"

"-and that is what Dr. Abbott advised."

"To hell with that man!" Jimmy slammed his fist on the table. "I thought you would pull her out when she actually became sick, not because you want your way."

Throughout all this, Mary stayed still in her seat. She folded her hands on her lap and took deep breaths._ I'm a lady. I'm a lady. I'm a lady. Oh, the heck..._

"I want to go to school," she pleaded. She turned to her father and opened her eyes wide, using the same pout she used to get a treat after supper. "You told me the doctor said I might get sicker. I don't feel any different at all. _Please._" Mary pleaded with her mother for fifteen minutes. She could see Marianne's resolve start to waver.

"I agree with Mary," Jimmy interjected. "Until she actually shows signs of being sick, she's staying in school."

"But, Jimmy..." Marianne and Jimmy began having a silent conversation with their eyes and neither of them looked ready to back down.

Mary shifted uncomfortably in her seat, still getting used to the wad of rags she'd shoved into her underwear for the bleeding. She took a deep breath and began fiddling with the buttons on her collar. She knew exactly what she had to do to change the topic. "Please let me go to school. I don't want to have to tell William the bad news today."

Her parents looked at each other quickly and then at her. _Worked like a charm. _

"William?" Marianne fought to keep the smile off her face. "Are you planning on seeing him today?"

"Yes," Mary replied. "We were planning to take an afternoon walk down to the pier. Chaperoned, of course."

Jimmy straightened in his seat. "Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?"

"He will be over in the morning to ask for your permission."

"Who is chaperoning?"

"His mother, I believe. But you are welcome to come, momma." Mary reverted back to her pet name quickly, using whatever she could to get her mother on her side.

Marianne allowed herself to smile freely. "I think it's a sweet thing."

"Oh!" Jimmy crossed his arms and huffed. "She's too sick for school but not for a stroll with the Reed boy?"

Marianne's eyes darted from Mary to Jimmy before she threw up her hands. "Fine! You win. Mary, you can stay in school the rest of the year. And don't give me that look, young lady. You will introduce me to Mrs. Reed tomorrow."

"Shouldn't I postpone given my...I mean, what do I do for...?"

"What do you-," Marianne's eyes widened. "I didn't show you where I keep the pads! Oh dear heavens." She grabbed Mary's hand and pulled her upstairs, declaring Kotex the greatest invention since sliced bread.

Jimmy stayed downstairs, head pressed against the table, wondering why the hell he was up so early on a Saturday.

###

Later in the morning Mary still hadn't chosen a dress. She tried on at least five, all of them different shades of boring. Mary pulled at the fabric incessantly with her fingers and groaned.

"There's nothing special about these!" She tossed them on her bed and sat next to them, rubbing her eyes. There was only one person who could make this better.

Edith was never surprised when Mary came over. She had long since stopped knocking and simply let herself into the house as if she belonged there. _Because she does._ Edith shook her thoughts and smiled at the young lady who was fidgeting in the foyer.

"It's lovely to see you today." Edith wrapped her arms around Mary and pulled back when she stiffened. "Is everything alright, darling?"

"No! William is coming over to take me for a walk and I don't have anything to wear. It's all so..." She waved her hand.

Edith mimicked her hand movement. "It's all so...what?"

"Not right." Mary frowned. "Is Franny here? She usually makes me feel better."

"I'm sorry, she's not. Paul took her over to his parents' home. We can go over if you'd like."

"No, I don't want to intrude." Mary closed her eyes and grew still for a long moment that stretched on.

Edith recognized it for what it was and stood to the side, arms folded around herself. She had known of the seizures; Missy had come running to her that day after the market crying. If she was being honest with herself, Edith had seen the seizures herself the day at the train station. She remembered how Mary seemed worlds away watching Eugene and Harry board the train for the service. Wanting answers, Edith had marched over to the Brandons' and demanded that Marianne explain what had happened. Surprisingly, Marianne had told her about the seizures. Now whenever Edith noticed Mary having one, she stood back until it passed, resisting the urge to bite her nails or turn away.

After a moment, Mary opened her eyes. Edith was smiling warmly and pointing upstairs. "I'm sure I have something that would suit you in my bedroom. After that, I can put curls in your hair."

William arrived at the Brandons' porch trailed by his mother. She had stopped nagging him about his choice of girls and resigned herself to the fact her future daughter-in-law would be a very odd little thing.

"William!" Marianne opened the door and invited her guests inside. Jimmy was standing behind her and politely offered to take Mrs. Reed's latest hand-knit shawl, complimenting her on its delicate lace pattern. She declined. Mary came running down the stairs then, slowing her steps when she realized she wasn't being very ladylike. _Breathe,_ she told herself, _it's just a boy. _

A slow smile lit up William's face. "My gosh, Mary Alice, you're a vision." And she was. She had her long black hair pinned up in curls around her face. She was wearing one of Edith's dresses, a pink scoop-neck affair with a low brown belt. She wore white stockings that ended in short ankle boots. Mary wasn't yet allowed the use of cosmetics, so she'd pinched her cheeks hard until the blush lingered. She did the same for her lips and rubbed them lightly with the petroleum jelly her mother kept in the medicine cabinet. It was her beautiful grey eyes William loved best and he found it hard to not stare.

"Thank you, William. You look dashing yourself." Mary shot a meaningful look at her mother.

Marianne took the hint and gave her daughter a sly smile. "Yes, well, if your mother is going, William, there's no need to drag this on longer than necessary. I expect Mary home in time for supper."

Sally and Christopher joined them as well, much to Mary's distaste. She liked Sally just fine; it was Christopher she couldn't stand. Poor Sally was stuck in the middle as she played buffer between her friend and the boy she fancied. As such, she and William found themselves making most of the small talk during the start of their walk. Mrs. Reed trailed behind them, pausing every five steps to speak with someone.

"She's not a very good chaperone," Sally remarked. She looked over at William apologetically. "That was rude."

"No, you're right. She's not." William reached over and gently grasped Mary's hand in his own. "I'm not complaining."

Mrs. Reed didn't say a word about the hand-holding and Christopher mimicked William by holding on to Sally. As they neared the shore, William asked many questions of Mary. She blushed and stammered as she gave her answers and asked her own in return. By the time they reached where the street met the sand, she knew his favorite food was fried chicken, his favorite drink was lemonade with lots of sugar, and he thought Gulliver's Travels was the greatest book ever written.

It was too cold for shaved ice so they found an empty bench near the pier and watched seagulls dip and dive into the ocean for fish. Mrs. Reed wandered off somewhere and left the teenagers alone. After a few minutes William produced a ball from his pocket and raised an eyebrow. "Christopher, want to throw it around? Do you ladies mind?" The ladies shook their heads and Christopher and William stepped away to play a round of catch. Once they were out of earshot, Sally turned to Mary and squealed.

"Oh, Mary, I think I'm going to marry him."

"Christopher?"

"Yes!" Sally clucked her tongue and swatted her friend on the arm. "Don't give me that look. I know you don't like him very much but please try. He's sweet with me."

Mary took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Alright, Sally. If you like him that much."

After half an hour, William came running back to Mary, tiny beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. "Christopher went to get some popcorn for us. Are you thirsty? I can get you a lemonade from Lou's."

Mary nodded politely, for it would have been rude to refuse. Sally did refuse only to change her mind moments later. "On second thought," she said, "I'm going to go get something to drink as well. Wait here for us."

Mary enjoyed the moment of solace and relaxed her stiff pose. _Behaving as a lady should is hard work._ She straightened up when she heard a noise behind her but sighed when she realized it was only Christopher. He was wearing a smirk, all signs of the gentleman he was with Sally gone.

"Hello, Mary," he said.

Mary nodded in his direction politely. She licked her lips as he shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth. He didn't offer her any.

"Mrs. Reed hates you, you know." Christopher grinned and shook a finger at her. "How are those knees of yours doing? We could hear them knockin' against each other the entire way here."

Mary lurched forward in her seat. "Be quiet, Christopher."

"It's true! I think poor William feels sorry for you. I'm only here to witness this train wreck and-"

Christopher's voice faded away. Mary realized they were no longer near the water, but instead in a backyard standing side-by-side. Christopher's fists shook at his sides; he let out a pained groan and began stepping backwards. Mary followed his gaze and let out a loud yelp. She caught glimpses of bodies moving before the vision released its hold and let her go.

Suddenly she was back on the bench with Christopher standing three feet away, still munching on popcorn.

"Are you even listening to me?" He narrowed his eyes and wagged his finger. "You're as much of an idiot as Sally."

In one fluid movement, Mary got on her feet and stood beside Christopher, too close, to whisper in his ear. "I think you're sick."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"Because you know your father sleeps with Sis LeMaine and yet you still court her daughter."

Christopher let out an odd choking sound and dropped the paper bag of popcorn. "How could you possibly know that?" He tried to move away but Mary grabbed his forearm and gripped him tightly. "What will happen if she becomes your sister, Christopher? Will you still want under her skirts then?"

Christopher let out a whimper and wrenched free. He stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. "My father was right," he whispered. "You're a goddamn freak." He stepped backward until he nearly tripped over a fire hydrant. That seemed to snap him out of his daze. His eyes widened and he turned around quickly, running towards home.

Mary felt deflated as she sank back onto the bench. Her abdomen clenched and she gave a groan. _That was terrible of me._ _That wasn't like me._ She repeated these words over and over to herself.

William and Sally came back moments later and found Mary rocking herself slowly with her head tucked between her knees.

"Mary?" When she didn't respond to him, William shot Sally a bewildered look.

Sally handed him her cup, took a seat next to Mary, and began rubbing slow circles on her back. "Mary, are you not feeling well? Where is Christopher?"

Mary murmured an excuse about bad popcorn and asked to be taken home.

On Tanglewood, Christopher had already entered his house. He smelled of tears and piss and took the stairs two at a time, hoping his mother wouldn't see him before he could clean himself up. No such luck.

"Christopher, what happened to you?" Elizabeth paled as she took in her son's appearance. She reached out and grabbed his arm, lightly rubbing the angry red marks that looked like someone's hold. "Christopher?"

"Mary Alice Brandon. That's what happened." He yanked his arm away and locked himself in the bathroom.

When he came out of the bathroom an hour later, his family was waiting in the sitting room. After he took his seat, Elizabeth pointed at both of her children.

"Neither of you is to speak to the Brandon girl ever again. I don't want you to so much as look at her."

"But mother, she's my friend..." Beth's protests were cut short by her mother's glare.

"There is no room for discussion. Do I make myself clear, Bethany?"

"Yes, mother."

"Christopher? Am I clear?"

"Crystal."

###

"Why do you look so sad today?"

"I did something." Mary toed the carefully tilled earth of the cornfield, being careful to avoid his gaze. He didn't scare her anymore, not really, but she was ashamed of what she had done.

He shifted his weight. "You did something. Something...good?"

"No."

"Ah, something bad then."

"Yes," Mary wiped the tears away from her face. "I was mean to someone. He started it but that is no excuse."

He nodded and crossed his arms around his body. "Have you apologized?"

"Not yet."

"Best get on that."

Mary sank down on the floor and tucked her legs under her body. She tugged at the skirt of her nightgown until it made a circle around her. He was still looking at her and the realization made her feel flushed.

"Why are you here?"

"Would you like me to leave?"

"No! I meant...why are you in the cornfield at all?"

"I don't know."

"That's ridiculous," Mary exclaimed, crossing her arms and looking away in defiance.

"Well, why are you here?"

"I don't-" Mary paused and let her arms drop. "I don't know either," she finished quietly.

"Then we're in the same boat." He smiled and closed his eyes. "But I am glad to have your company."

###

Mary went to the Liddell's house the next day but no one answered. At school on Monday, Beth and Christopher gave her a wide berth, never meeting her gaze. They walked away briskly whenever she neared to apologize. Mary tried visiting their house that afternoon and was shocked when Beth flung open the door. She looked irate, her cheeks were red, and her eyes were tearing up. "Stay away from my family!" was all she yelled before she slammed the door so hard it caused an invisible fissure to divide the street. On one side of it stood Mary and the few friends and family that saw nothing but a normal, if peculiar, girl. On the other side stood the rest of the neighborhood who recoiled at the very sound of Mary's voice, as if she was the Devil herself come to damn them.

###

Despite any rumors he may have heard, William stopped by the Brandon house that week to deliver flowers to Mary. She accepted them eagerly and, after bidding him farewell, she sniffed them and grinned, letting one of the roses brush against her cheek. She put them in a vase near her bed.

Marianne smiled from the doorway. "He's serious about you." It wasn't a question.

"I suppose he is."

"And you..."

"I like him quite a bit. He's certainly handsome." Mary shifted on her bed. "Mother, how did you know daddy was the one you wanted to marry?"

Marianne sat down next to Mary and began brushing her fingers through her long hair. "It's hard to answer that."

"Edith told me Paul made her feel safe. Did daddy do something like that for you?"

"Not quite. I fell in love with your father when I was fifteen years old. I didn't understand a need for safety back then."

"Oh. I'm going to be fifteen soon."

"Yes, you are. That doesn't mean you have to go rushing into a marriage, however." Marianne cupped her daughter's chin and looked at her for a long time. "He makes me laugh."

"You married daddy because he makes you laugh?"

"I love your father, Mary. No matter what may happen, you have to know that _I love your father._ We've made mistakes, as all parents do. There have been moments that were so dark..." Marianne's voice cracked and she paused to clear her throat. "But despite everything I have never doubted your father has kept a place for me in his heart. I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else."

Mary nodded and leaned her head on her mother's shoulder. "The dark moments...what happened?"

"They were a long time ago, before your father and I moved to Biloxi. I'd much rather talk about William." Marianne grinned and patted her daughter's knee. "You'll know if he's the one soon enough."

"Then I shouldn't worry about it?"

"I think you should worry about what your father is going to say instead."

A week later, Mary realized she absolutely had to speak to her father. William had dropped off another bouquet of flowers and this time, Mary had placed them in a vase at the dinner table hoping they would add ambiance during their meal. That might have been a mistake.

"Mary Alice?"

"Yes, daddy?" Mary's throat grew parched as she saw the way her father was attacking his pork chop.

"Who are the flowers from?" _Slice._

"William Reed."

"Is that right?" _Slice. Stab. Shove in mouth. Chew. Swallow. _"What are they for?"

"I believe his exact words were 'I wanted to give you a reason to smile.'"

Jimmy's plate began to rattle from the force he was using to cut his food. Marianne stifled a laugh and tapped lightly on the table. "Focus, darling. That poor chop has done nothing to you."

There was a clatter as Jimmy dropped his cutlery. He stared at Mary, hard, before softening his face. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just don't like the idea of you courting anyone. You're too young."

"But you courted mother when she was my age."

"Ugh!" Jimmy shot a glance at Marianne. "You had to tell her that story, didn't you?"

Marianne smiled and busied herself with her glass of tea.

"Fine. Mary, invite the boy over for a talk sometime this month."

"Daddy, what are you-"

Jimmy held up his hand. "Just a talk. I simply want to make sure his intentions are suitable." He gave a sigh and folded his hands. "If he's as good a boy as he seems to be, I won't object anymore."

Mary let out a squeal and rushed around the table to give her father a hug, not thinking anything of it when he held on to her just a little longer than usual.

###

_This cornfield never changes_, Mary thought, but she quickly realized that wasn't true; there was no tingle in her spine, no primal urge to flee this time. After taking a deep breath, she turned slowly, so slowly, peeking behind her hands to what lay behind her. There was nothingness, as always, but it had given up chase. The void at the edge of the field lay perfectly still. Mary gave a pleased hum and ran through the rows of stalks. She no longer had to run, she knew this, but she wanted to see Him...

He was crouched on the ground, and she could see his hair was tied back in the shortest ponytail. The locks around his face were too short and he kept tucking them back behind his ear. He suddenly paused and looked back over his shoulder.

"Stay there, please." His eyes were brilliant, happy. They had stopped frightening her long ago.

"Hello," Mary whispered. He held out his hand in a gesture to wait and went back to whatever it was he was doing. Mary could make out blurs near his feet; her jaw dropped when she realized it was his hands. _Too fast_, she thought. She held out her own in front of her face and began waving them quickly, wondering if it was the cornfield that made Him impossible. But her hands were the same speed as always. She heard a quiet laughter and put her hands down. He was standing now, head thrown back, laughing at her display.

"You're adorable," he choked out.

"How were you moving so fast?"

"Magic." His eyes crinkled. He had both hands behind his back. "I made you something. Close your eyes."

Mary complied with a smile on her face. She held out her hands but didn't feel anything placed in them. "Well?"

"Ah..." There was a soft sigh and then it sounded like he took a deep breath. Something was dropped into her hands very quickly. She opened her eyes and looked down. In her hands was a small doll made of folded corn husks. The doll had no face, no clothing; it should have been less important than Suzy, Mary Jane, or Lettie, and yet Mary felt elated. She pressed the doll close to her chest, stroking the husks gently with her pinkie.

"I didn't have sufficient materials to work with-"

"She's beautiful." Mary cleared her throat and spoke louder. "She's so beautiful. Thank you."

He smiled and folded his hands behind his back. "I'm glad you are pleased."

"Where did you learn to make this?"

"Someone taught me a long time ago."

Mary nodded and, still pressing the doll to her chest, she knelt on the cold ground. He followed her movement and the two sat in a comfortable silence.

"I'm naming her Sarah," Mary whispered.

"That's a good name." He rolled a pebble between his thumb and forefinger. Mary wanted to tell him her name then. They had never asked each other; there was no reason to know it when they were the only two people in the world. Yet, Mary wanted to know his so she could carry pieces of Him back with her. Just maybe.

"I've been thinking."

"Of what?"

Mary opened her mouth to speak but was struck by the sudden wave of Biloxi heat that washed over her. "No, wait!" Mary opened her eyes and gasped. She was in her bed, at home, clutching tightly at her chest for any trace of Sarah, of Him, anything.

Her hands came up empty.

* * *

**History Lesson:**

Kotex developed and marketed the disposable menstrual pad right after after WWI. They were expensive and involved the use of pins to hold in place (that sounds like a wardrobe malfunction just waiting to happen, doesn't it?).

Corn husk dolls have been around for centuries, predominately in the southwest area of the United States.

There are now four people who have given Mary a doll: Edith, Marianne, William, and Him. They are vastly different dolls and each represents a facet of Mary's relationship with the giver. Food for thought.

If you received a teaser and are wondering where the hell that scene with William went, sorry about that. This chapter got too long so it was split into two. The second part should be up in two weeks.

Also, you should all read **Always One Foot on the Ground** by **Its29**. It's Edward/Leah which is something I never ever _ever_ thought I would read…well, in this story, it's awesome. There's a link in my favorites.

Reviewers get a **new** teaser and a pork chop.


	9. Oh, How I Miss You Tonight

I am so sorry for the wait. I know it can be a pain to stick around, but I promise I will never flounce from this fic and it will be completed, sooner rather than later. I'm far too invested in Edith, Franny, Jimmy, and the rest of these characters who only exist in my world.

Thank you to my kickass awesomesauce betas, Beth and Sarah, who put up with my cray-cray and remain as dedicated to this story as they were on day one.

I suggest skimming the prologue if it's been a while since you read it.

Smeyer owns Twilight. I own the Biloxi crew and entirely too much yarn.

* * *

**###**

**July 1****st**** 1925**

She lay in bed for several moments chasing the sleep that refused to come. Her bedroom was dark but she could make out the fluffy ruffles on her bedspread, the shape of the small vanity her father had bought her for her fourteenth birthday, the fluttering of the curtains in the hot summer breeze.

Mary hadn't gone back to the cornfield in weeks.

She threw herself back onto the pillows roughly and clenched her eyes so tight, her head ached. _Fall asleep_, she chanted over and over in her head but it was fruitless; sleep wouldn't come and, on the nights it did, it was deep and utterly dreamless. Her fingernails were chewed to the quick from the anxiety. During the day, she was detached and unnaturally quiet, smiling only when she was around Franny.

The one time Sally came over, she was ignored. She stormed home after only fifteen minutes, wondering if maybe the Liddells were on to something after all.

During dinner that night, Mary's parents kept a close eye on their strange daughter. They clucked their tongues and shook their heads, and tried, in vain, to get her to open up. Jimmy was the first to get frustrated. He tossed his napkin on the table and shifted his chair towards Mary.

"For heaven's sake, what's the matter with you?"

"Jimmy!" Marianne reached over and grabbed his hand. "Calm down."

Jimmy moved out of Marianne's grip and narrowed his eyes at his daughter. "Is this about that boy?"

"Boy?" Mary swallowed thickly and began shaking her foot to a nervous rhythm. "What boy?"

"William. Who else would I be speaking of?"

Mary dropped her shoulders and wilted before their eyes. "No one. May I be excused?"

She left her parents arguing, and enveloped herself in her bedspread, waiting for sleep. That had been six hours earlier.

She yanked her sheets off in frustration and let the breeze cool her body. "Please," she whispered to the room. "I miss it. I miss him."

She sat on her bed, cross-legged, and took slow, deep breaths, trying to imagine herself back. Ever so slowly, the ruffled bedspread turned into dips in the soil, the curtains into the rustling of the stalks. At last, a silhouette of a man appeared in the shadows.

"I'm here?" she asked in disbelief. "I'm here!" Her voice echoed and carried itself right to him. They met somewhere in the middle and Mary was so overjoyed, she threw herself into his arms without thought or hesitance. "I need to tell you something before it's too late." She tugged on his hair to bring his ear closer to her lips and, in a rushed whisper, she told him her name.

He moved back to look into her eyes as he tested the word soundlessly on his lips. "Mary," he finally said, reverently. "You came back to me."

**###**

**July 3rd 1925**

"Fr-Fr-Franny!"

That's how Paul said his daughter's name. Mary always threw her head back and laughed until her sides hurt. Paul knew she meant no harm and often he'd join in the laughter, his head shaking. "Say it again," Mary would cry.

"Fr-Fr-Franny!"

Mary started calling her that too.

That night she leaned out of her bedroom window and whispered the name into her end of their tin can telephone. Miss Thornton taught all the children in her class how to make them and now the alleys in Tanglewood were linked together with the garland of communication. Mary had made hers out of two cans of evaporated milk; the other end reached across into Franny's room where the little girl was already waiting with her can in hand.

"Can you hear me?"

Franny nodded, then burst into laughter. "Oh! Yes, I can hear you. Are we really going to do this every night?"

"Every night. It's a lot easier than trying to yell to each other."

"Mary, just come over," she pleaded. She threw in a pout for good measure, but Mary pretended not to see it.

"It's too late for that. Besides, this is more fun, Fr-Fr-Franny." Mary straddled her windowsill, one leg swinging carelessly outside. No one could see them unless they stepped into the alleyway and the thought was suddenly freeing.

"Be careful!"

"Keep your voice down! I'm not going to fall."

Franny huffed and waved her can a little. "Fine." She leaned on both her elbows, her chubby cheek resting in one hand. The girls sat in silence as they watched the pinks, purples, and golds of dusk sweep over their houses.

"Why is the sky blue?" Franny was four years old, which meant she questioned everything.

"Well, mother says it's because God made it that way."

"My mother or yours?"

"Yours."

"Oh. Why does it change color?"

"God has a paintbrush and changes it whenever he fancies." Mary made a humming sound.

Franny nodded slowly. "Uh huh. Why doesn't he ever choose green?"

"Because the trees are green. You can't have too much of one color."

Franny squinted as if she were trying to gauge the truth in Mary's words. Eventually, she just shrugged. "That makes sense."

There was more silence and Mary closed her eyes. "Do you have dreams?" She asked quietly. "Most people do."

"Of course I do." Franny began bouncing lightly in excitement. "I dreamt last night that daddy got me a horse."

"You don't say." Mary smiled and tugged on the line playfully.

"Yep! He was white and I named him Buster and I kept him in the backyard where he ate all the roses…" Franny went on describing her dream for several minutes while Mary waited patiently. "So," the little girl finally asked, "what did you dream about last night?"

"Nothing. Everything. The color Mrs. Liddell's flowers are going to be. The raise my daddy's going to get at the cannery. Which dress you're going to wear for your birthday party." Mary paused and leaned back against the window siding. "Your grandma's going to make you a new one, you know."

"Grandma is _always_ making me dresses." Franny scrunched her face. "Those sound like boring dreams."

"Really?" Mary chuckled and looked over toward the street. "Most people wouldn't say so." _No one could possibly hear us._ "My other dreams aren't so boring. They're about someone…" Mary blushed and twirled loose tendrils of her hair around her finger. "I've been dreaming of a boy."

"Oooooooh," Franny teased. "Is it William?"

"William?" Mary cocked her head. "Why do you assume it's of him?"

"Because daddy says you're likely to marry him some day." Franny wrinkled her nose. "Is that true?"

Mary stared up at the sky thoughtfully. With a sigh, she eased herself back into her bedroom. "The truth is that it's time for you to go to bed."

"But-"

"No buts."

"Okay," came the reluctant reply. "Goodnight, Mary."

"Goodnight, Fr-Fr-Franny."

**###**

He was waiting for her the way he always seemed to be as of late; standing in the middle of the path through the corn, holding Sarah in both his hands. _He's so thoughtful_.

"Hello."

He smiled and walked over to her. He didn't hand Sarah over immediately and Mary realized, with trepidation, that things had felt awkward ever since their reunion. He had seemed happy to see her, but then gently pushed her away and kept her at a distance. Each visit since, he seemed weary, as if he was growing tired of her presence.

She moved to sit, but he stopped her and shook his head. "You'll get mud on your dress."

Mary looked around and realized that the ground was dimpled with puddles of mud. "It rained?"

He nodded once and pointed down to his feet which were bare. "I had to let my boots dry out."

"I never realized it could rain…or that it hadn't. I guess I never thought about it." Mary's eyes grew wide. "I never thought about it at all. If it rains, does that mean there's sunlight? How does the corn grow in the first place? And what do you eat? You can't possibly survive on just the corn."

"Whoa, there." He took another step back and shook his head. "I'm surviving just fine." They stood in silence for a moment.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"What I eat?"

"Your name!" She threw up her hands in exasperation. "I want to know your name." After a few minutes it became obvious he wasn't going to say. "It's not fair. You know mine."

"Mary."

"You say it like it's something beautiful."

"It is." Her face softened and she reached out to him. He shook his head again and ducked away from her hands. "You shouldn't…"

"Don't move away from me," she chastised. She took another step forward and slowly moved her hand to his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch; he was shaking under her palm. "Are you scared of me?" she asked.

When he opened his eyes, they weren't his. The brilliant, animalistic red had faded into a warm gold that made Mary weak in the knees. He looked at her, _through _her, and she felt absolutely bare to him. The moment went as quickly as it came, and within seconds his eyes reddened again.

"Yes," he whispered, laying one of his hands over hers. "I'm scared of you."

**###**

The next day, Mary stood alongside the thousands of residents in Biloxi and celebrated the Fourth of July. Grudges and fears were set aside and everyone treated her like she had always been one of them. Beth even held her hand while they stood, alongside the other Biloxi High students, to sing _America the Beautiful_ on stage with the mayor.

When night fell, she moved with the crowds towards the pier and cheered as fireworks painted the sky over the Mississippi Sound. She lifted Franny up by her waist and laughed as the little girl waved the tiny American flag the organizers handed out to the children.

"I still can't see!" Franny pouted.

"I can help," someone said into Mary's ear.

She turned and found William smiling shyly, a small ribbon in his hand. He waved it gently and then held it out for her. His curls were matted down with sweat and his eyes were alive and bright under the exploding sky. "Hello, Mary," he yelled close to her ear. "May I?" He reached down and swooped Franny up on his shoulder.

Mary smiled sweetly and tugged on on his sleeve. "Thank you!" She pointed to the fireworks. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

William shook his head. "I wouldn't know. I can't seem to take my eyes off of you."

Mary batted his arm. "You're in a good mood."

"Say you'll take a walk with me tomorrow morning and I'll be in a better one."

"Don't you have church?"

William frowned. "On Monday then. Early. How about seven?"

"Monday then." William exhaled with relief and finally turned his attention to the display.

Her pulse sounded louder in her ears than the fireworks.

**###**

**July 6****th**** 1925**

Sally had been right; Mrs. Reed was a terrible chaperone. William had planned a stroll with Mary, this time closer to the water, and his mother once again agreed to supervise. Before they even reached the small pier near the lighthouse, she disappeared into the market, muttering about picking out some fabric for a nightgown.

"Did your mother just leave us?" Mary stopped in her tracks. She had never been alone with a boy outside of Tanglewood. Christopher had been the only exception and that short moment had ended poorly.

William picked up on her distress and frowned. "I can take you back home at once."

Mary chewed on the inside of her cheek before shaking her head. "No, it's alright. Clearly she trusts us. Besides, I want to see this surprise of mine."

William smiled and linked his arm with hers. "I think you're going to love it."

The surprise turned out to be an entire building.

"The lighthouse?" Mary asked incredulously.

William smiled slyly and patted Mary's arm, ushering her toward the entrance. He produced a key from his shirt pocket and unlocked the door. "Madam, your gift awaits." He gestured inside with a flourish.

Mary paused and shifted her weight to her heels. She peered into the dark room and frowned. "William, are you sure we're allowed to be here? We won't get in trouble?"

"My aunt is the keeper," he answered, as he pointed to the cottage just behind them. "I can come and go as I please as long as I don't break anything." He blushed and wrung his hands. "But if you're not comfortable going inside, we can-"

Mary cut him off by running past him. "You can't catch me!" she yelled back, as she started running up the spiral stairs.

William watched her skirts flair high behind her and his pulse began to race. "You're going to regret challenging me." He grinned and dashed after her, taking the stairs two at a time. He caught her at the top and wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. Their laughter echoed until it faded and the only sound was their erratic breathing.

"I have you, Miss Mary." William whispered into her ear.

Mary shivered and lay her hands over his. "So you do," she murmured.

William cleared his throat and let her go. He stepped around her and pointed to a small ladder screwed onto the wall. Mary followed its steps with her eyes up to the small hole in the ceiling. "I s'pose we have to climb through that?"

William blushed and held up his hand. "Yes. I promise I won't look up your dress."

"I have to go first?"

"It seems only right, just in case you fall."

Mary laughed and placed both hands firmly on the ladder. "You'll catch me if I do, won't you?"

"Did you forget I caught you just moments ago?"

Mary went up the ladder first. Once inside, she straightened out her skirt and looked around the room. She was speechless, until William nudged her with his shoulder.

"It's nice, isn't it?" He said.

"William, it's beautiful." The room was circular and every wall was a pane of glass that stretched from floor to ceiling. Mary stepped forward until her nose was practically touching the glass. From up there, the sea was a calm, endless blue-green speckled with frothy white. "This view is amazing."

"I know. I love to come up here in the mornings and watch the boats come and go." He lightly touched Mary's elbow and pointed to the nine lanterns spread out within the room. "My aunt turns these on right after dusk."

"She's here all night?"

"All night." William grinned. "You couldn't keep her away from this place if you tried. Her mother used to be the Keeper, you know."

"What about electricity?"

"They have it running in here already. They're supposed to electrify the lantern next year." William wandered over to two chairs in the middle of the room. A small radio was set on one of them. He picked it up and turned its dial. "Would you care to sit?"

In the span of an hour they spoke of everything, letting the conversation ebb and flow like the sea she couldn't pry her eyes away from.

William checked his pocket watch and closed it with a snap."We're going to have to leave soon."

Mary tried to hide her disappointment. "Oh."

"Not that I want to," William amended. "The lighthouse is made of iron and, in the July sun, it gets quite warm in here. I'm sure my mother is wondering where we are as well."

"She doesn't like me very much, does she?"

"Of course she does. She is just concerned, that's all."

Mary licked her lips and turned to face him. "What are people saying about me, William?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't be stubborn." Mary gave a rueful smile. "I hear the rumours…some of them in any case. I hear I made Christopher Liddell cry."

"We've all made him cry at one point or another. He's an oversensitive bastard."

"William!"

"Do you disagree?"

"No," she admitted. "I can't say that I do." Mary sighed and closed her eyes. "There are so many other girls in Tanglewood who would love your affections."

"But there's only one I want to give them to."

"And what if people talk about you? About us?"

William scoffed. "I won't pay attention to a lick of it, Mary. None of that matters to me."

**###**

For the next two months, Mary continued to split her time between her two worlds. She visited the lighthouse with William twice a week. There, they were safe from curious glances and whispers. There, Mary found herself free to sit closer to him, to hold his hand, to let her fingers ghost over the buttons on his collar and straighten his tie when the occasion called for it.

Nights were spent in the cornfield. She had begun greeting Him with, "Today?" But, each day he shook his head 'no', he wasn't telling her his name yet.

"Why not?"

"Tell me about your day." Just like that the subject was put away.

Mary filled the time with recitations of poems and stories she learned in school. She realized he loved history the best and began paying extra attention to her teacher's lectures. When that wasn't enough, she poured over her father's books and newspapers, jotting down notes in the margins. "He'd like this," she'd write, and then commit the dates and details to memory. Sometimes she stumbled over her words, so eager to please him, wondering if in the silence of fields he could hear how fast his presence made her heart beat.

**###**

**August 12****th****, 1925**

"Did you hear that? My God, he hit another one!" William leaned over and lowered the volume on the radio. He got up and stood in front of Mary, grinning like a fool.

The two teenagers were sitting in the stairwell of the lighthouse. It was unseasonably cool that day and they were able to sit inside, albeit with the door open, and listen to the broadcast of the baseball games from the radio inside the lighthouse.

"That's going to be me one day."

Mary furrowed her eyebrows. "You're going to be on the radio?"

William let out a hearty laugh. "No, I'm going to play ball with the Yankees," he said confidently.

"Just like Babe Ruth?"

"I'll be better than Babe!" William stood, jogged up to the top landing and took a batter's stance. "During my last year of high school, Huggins himself will come and scout me. I'll be the Yankees' new number three before I'm twenty!" He swung his arms, as if he'd hit an imaginary ball, and closed his eyes.

Mary bit the inside of her cheek and looked away. She hadn't realized William was serious about baseball and certainly never thought he would want to leave Biloxi. She cleared her throat and did her best to sound cheery. "That sounds like a wonderful dream. I hope it comes true for you."

"Us, Mary. I want it to come true for us." William smiled and sat back down next to her. He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm gently. "You're going to love New York," he whispered.

"I'm…" A touch of hysteria began to bubble in Mary's throat. She choked it down and tried again. "You expect me to go with you?"

William let out a shaky breath and reached for Mary's other hand. He now held both in his and he squeezed them gently. "I'm going to ask your father for your hand in marriage, Mary."

The room became twenty degrees hotter. Mary slipped one hand out of his grasp and began to fan herself.

"Have I upset you?"

"No." _Yes._ "It's just that…"

"I've been saying I want you as my wife for the past seven years, Miss Brandon. Did you think I was playing a game all this time?" William asked with a laugh.

"No." _Yes. Perhaps._

"Is there someone else?"

Mary struggled to find an answer. After a few moments of silence, she reached and lightly passed her fingertips over the back of William's hand. "My father asked to speak to you," she finally murmured. "Would you like to have dinner with my family this week?"

"I want to make my intentions known."

"I know."

"Tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow."

**###**

Mary spent twenty minutes flipping through her mother's sole recipe book without any luck. She dragged the large book into the kitchen, where her mother was baking cookies, and dropped the large book on the counter. "Mother, how do you make fried chicken? And why do you only have one cookbook? And why is it full of fish recipes?"

Marianne clucked her tongue and waved her rolling pin. "Because, dear, I know my recipes by heart. The cookbook was a gift from a friend when she learned I was moving to the seafood capital of the south." Marianne took in Mary's panicked look. "I keep telling you to take the time to learn to cook properly. We can't survive on only biscuits."

"But I don't like to cook and biscuits are the only things I make well."

"I don't like to do laundry, but I do it anyway." Marianne narrowed her eyes and put a hand on her hip. "Why on earth do you need a recipe for fried chicken in the first place?"

"I invited William over for dinner tomorrow and fried chicken is his favorite meal. That goes well with biscuits too so I'll make..." Mary trailed off as she took in her mother's reaction. _Oh Lord._

"Mary Alice Brandon, why didn't you tell me we were having company?" Marianne pulled off her apron as fast as possible and tossed it aside. "Are his parents coming as well?"

"I am not certain. They might."

Marianne made a strangled noise and began pulling the linens off the table. "I need to wash these and press the napkins. We need to polish the good silverware too." Marianne strode out of the kitchen, muttering about ironing her best dress and choosing a dessert.

"Wait!" Mary called after her, "What about the fried chicken?"

Marianne popped her head back in with a frown on her face. "Darling, I've never made fried chicken before. I don't know how to."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"Perhaps I can make some stew instead."

"In July?" Mary shrieked. "That won't work!" She slumped into the nearest chair and rested her head on the table. "This was supposed to be perfect."

"Mary?" Marianne hesitated, tapping her fingernails on the counter before letting out a slow breath. "I bet Edith knows how to make fried chicken. Why don't you run on over and ask her?"

Of course Edith knew how to make fried chicken. "Is it for a picnic of sorts?"

"It's for William. He and his parents are coming over for dinner. William wants to…you know."

Edith coughed. "He…but you're so young." Edith wrung her hands helplessly. She had half a mind to march up to Marianne and clock her upside the head. Mary wasn't even fifteen and here she was, speaking of marriage in the same tone Edith used about dusting the top of the icebox. "Do you like William?"

"Quite a bit. He's sweet and makes me laugh. He doesn't care about the things people say about me." Mary seemed lost in thought for a few moments. Edith clasped her hands and waited patiently for her to come back.

"How did you know Paul was the one? I know how he proposed, but why did you agree?"

"He kept asking," Edith joked. She realized Mary was taking her answer seriously. "I said yes," she clarified, "because I knew I wanted him as a husband."

"I'm pretty sure Mrs. Reed dislikes me a great deal."

Edith scrunched her nose. "No mother likes the girl who steals her son away."

"Mrs. DeWitt likes you."

"She didn't always. It took her a few months to accept that Paul wasn't going to marry anyone else. I suspect Nellie- Mrs. Reed- will do the same." Edith cupped Mary's face in her hands. "You're a beautiful young woman. Any boy would thank his lucky stars for bringing you to him." She gently pushed Mary toward the stove. "Now, about this chicken recipe…"

**###**

William whistled as he straightened his tie. It was mustard, a stark contrast to his charcoal suit, but he knew Mary would appreciate the burst of color. He dipped his hand into the large jar of hair grease his father kept on the bathroom sink and smoothed it over his hair. He brushed it until the curls stayed down and frowned when he realized the sunlight from the window reflected off of it. "Huh," he murmured. "Maybe I used too much."

"You look fine." His mother was leaning against the bathroom door with her arms crossed. She blew a stray hair out of her eyes and reached for one of the hand towels lying on the edge of the sink. "Here, let me wipe your neck." She hummed under her breath while she cleaned off the pomade that threatened to drip down the back of his shirt. When she finished, she sighed and pressed her hand over her son's heart.

"Please don't," William begged. "I'm not changing my mind."

"But marriage, William? To Mary Brandon? There are so many other girls, _better_ girls, who would do anything to have you bring them flowers. Why can't you marry one of them?"

William grasped his mother by the shoulders. "Because I love her."

His mother moved out of his arms. "She's not right in the head. You know that. Just two weeks ago she barely even looked at you, at anyone."

"She goes through phases is all."

"Phases? Fine, we'll call them phases." Nellie narrowed her eyes. "What will happen if she stays in one of her _phases_?"

"Mother…"

"Tell me. What happens if you come home from work one day and she's so out of it she's let junior play with the stove?"

"Don't—"

"She's sick, William. Even if you love her, it won't be enough when you have to take care of her because she can't take care of herself."

William turned back to the mirror and fiddled with his tie. "I will take care of her."

"Think of what everyone will say."

"I don't care."

"But—"

"I don't care. I'm going to marry her with or without your blessing. Please don't let it come to this." William searched his mother's eyes, but she looked away. He heard her sigh again and then she left the bathroom without another word.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, both his parents were waiting dressed for dinner.

"You're coming?" he asked, incredulously.

His parents shared a glance before his father cleared his throat. "Of course we are. We should at least see what her parents have to say."

###

The air was knocked out of William's lungs when Mary opened the door. She was wearing a peach dress that was just above her ankles and her hair was loose. Completely and utterly loose. It seemed darker than ever and it trailed down to her waist, curling at the ends just above where he imagined her knickers began. He blushed at the thought and cleared his throat.

"Mary Alice." He beamed. "You look stunning."

Dinner was pleasant, but had an undercurrent of tension. Marianne kept staring at the boy, trying to figure from just a look if he was smart enough, handsome enough, _good_ enough. Jimmy ignored him altogether, choosing to talk work with George.

"I fried the chicken and made the biscuits," Mary whispered at some point.

"It's delicious," William enthused. "Did you hear that, Mother?"

"Yes." Nellie deadpanned. She was not impressed. "Marianne," she started, "It seems our children are taken with one another." There was a bitterness in her words.

Marianne was overly saccharine in her reply. "Why, of course! Your boy has been after my sweet Mary for quite some time."

"Your daughter seemed to enjoy the positive attention. She hasn't received much of that recently, has she?"

Mary watched the two mothers trade thinly concealed barbs over the dinner table. Across from her, William scowled and dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter. "Mother, please!"

"William, don't speak to your mother in that tone."

"Father."

"George, let him speak if he wants to."

Jimmy sighed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Why don't you just get on with it, son."

"I want to speak to you about my intentions with your daughter." William rubbed his hands on his thighs. Mary knew he was nervous and, if he was nervous, he was probably sweating. "Um, sir, what I mean to say is, I'd like to ask for Mary's hand."

Nellie visibly deflated. George smiled tightly and patted his wife's hand. "Our son has been eager for this day, I assure you. He comes from good stock."

"Your son is a good boy, George, but I think Mary's too young to be engaged."

"I'll take care of her, Mr. Brandon. Once I'm on the team and we get to New York—"

"New York?" Marianne blanched. "What's this about New York?"

"Coach says I can make it to pro right out of high school, if not sooner. Mary would come with me. I thought she'd work in fashion there."

"Tailoring?" Nellie let out an unladylike snort.

"_Fashion_, Mother, not tailoring. Mary's a wonder when it comes to color and texture."

"She's too young."

Mary's eyes widened in surprise. The sentiment came from Marianne with a finality that made the Reeds sit a little taller in their chairs while William slumped in his. Jimmy was quick to pat him on the shoulder. "You've made your intentions clear and you're a good boy. How about we hold off this conversation until your last year of high school?"

William nodded curtly and glanced over at Mary. He felt hurt when he realized she looked relieved.

**###**

"Can I try it again?"

He furrowed his eyebrows and tensed; she could see his shoulders inch up ever so slightly, his hand form into fists, and his chin tuck into his chest. He was definitely still frightened of her.

"Please?"

She nearly rushed him when he nodded. Instead she forced herself to step towards him slowly and touch his cheek gently, first with just her thumb and then the whole of her hand. His shudder sent a thrill up her spine but it was his eyes that captivated her. Once again the red evaporated until only gold was left in its place. Mary gave a breathy laugh. "It's amazing. You're the missing link of alchemy."

"What do you mean?"

Mary shook her head, let go of his cheek, and stared as the gold receded. "Amazing," she repeated. "Let's sit."

It hadn't rained so they sat in one of the aisles between the stalks as usual. He gave her a gentle smile. "How are things at home?"

"William asked my father for his blessing a few hours ago."

He didn't say anything, just looked out into the distance. He appeared to be concentrating but there was nothing to see. Finally he cleared his throat. "When is the wedding?'

"My parents didn't consent, not yet." Mary fiddled with one of the buttons on her dress. "I didn't say yes."

"That stopped him?" He turned to face her again, and gave her a small smile. "If I were him, I wouldn't give up after one conversation. If I were him, I'd ask _every day_ until you father consented. "

The space between them closed as Mary inched her way closer. "And…" She licked her lips and pressed her clasped hands over her heart. "And if you weren't him? If you were yourself…If it were a possibility?"

"You're too young." He reached for her anyway. His hands were so cold but he held her hand so tenderly, so sweetly, Mary felt a warmth. When he pressed his lips against her wrist, it turned into a flame that shot up her arm, through her chest, down to her toes. "But I would remain by your side," he murmured. "I would wait for you."

"I think I want you to."

"It's what I've been doing all this time."

The cornfield snapped away as quickly as it came. Mary was still in the sitting room with a book perched on her lap but the room was spinning. _I need air_. She stumbled out the front door and onto the porch. She folded her arms on the railing and rested her head, letting the breeze that was rolling off the gulf sweep over her. She could still feel the kiss on her wrist.

"Mary?" Franny was standing in the street in front of her home, ready to go inside from a game of hopscotch. She squealed at the sight of her best friend and ran over. When Mary didn't acknowledge her, she cocked her head. "Are you alright?"

_I'm flying_. "Oh Fran. He's waiting for me to turn his eyes to gold."

* * *

**History Lessons:**

"Oh, I Miss You Tonight" was a popular song in 1925. You can find a link to a recording on my profile.

The City of Biloxi continues its annual fireworks display to this day.

The Biloxi Lighthouse started operation in 1848. It is still standing, though it was damaged by Katrina. It is known for having the most female keepers of any lighthouse in the US.

The Yankees won a game against the Chicago White Sox on August 12th 1925. Despite William's idolization, it was actually one of Ruth's worst years on the field due to undisclosed illness (which many believe was a venereal disease. Ouch). Miller Huggins was manager of the team at the time.

Mary refers to alchemy, which is the medieval search for a potion capable of turning copper to gold.

**Story notes:**

I've briefly touched upon the fact that the Brandon family is not religious and don't attend church regularly. This is yet another reason the Brandons are in the outer rim of the Tanglewood circle.

At this point, William is one of the only teenagers in Tanglewood who ignore the rumors and speculation about Mary. That's important to remember when analyzing their relationship. Marianne was also quick to push them into into a relationship...at least until she realized William intends to move Mary so far away. Marianne is suddenly less enthusiastic.

Congratulations for those who knew it was Jasper in the cornfield! While I was reading the Twilight Saga, I found myself thinking, "Alice couldn't have met Jasper without going mad and being institutionalized. Alice couldn't have gone mad without having premonitions. What if her premonitions were of Jasper?" Having their relationship come full circle was too interesting to ignore and that's one of the reasons I started writing this story.

There's a interlude going up right after this so don't go too far.


	10. Interlude: Confessions

There was a regular chapter update right before this one. Make sure you read that one as well.

This interlude picks up right where the prologue left off. There is also a related outtake in Give Us This Day.

SMeyer owns Twilight.

* * *

**August 2005**

Franny had always been a fast and deep sleeper. But not tonight. She had done right by Mary, at the end, but it hadn't been enough.

_I should have told him everything. _

But you don't _know_ everything, her conscience countered.

_I know enough. _

All her secrets were coiled tightly and, in the silence of early morning, she let one unfurl until it revealed its prize: a memory. Somewhere in Biloxi, on a plush bed covered in her mother's handmade quilt, she lay with a petite, black-haired, porcelain girl who would point out the cracks, dips, and pockmarks in the ceiling and connect them like constellations.

"See those three spots, Franny? They look just like Orion's belt." And in the summer of 1925, when a blackout killed enough light to let the stars shine, Mary had shown her the real thing.

But it wasn't 1925, and she wasn't a girl anymore. It was 2005, and a very tired Franny lay in her threadbare cotton sheets and long nightgown that had seen better days. The fan she had on was making her cold but she didn't want to move; not yet. She stared at the popcorn ceiling, connecting the dots just as she used to, until the sun rose over the house and her alarm clock began its incessant beeping. She needed to take her medicine, and then she needed answers. It was the latter thought that finally made her get out of bed, _aching bones be damned_, and she trudged, limping, to the attic stairs.

The hallway that led from her bedroom to the living room was lined with pictures. She passed her fingers over the gilded frames of each one, the snapshots of her children's first softball games, Christmases, and weddings arranged chronologically. _"This is the story of my life,"_ she thought, _"but not all of it,"_ and moved just a little faster.

To call the space above her head an attic felt like a joke; it was a small crawl space packed with boxes John had shoved in when they had first moved in. Many of them hadn't been touched in years, and Franny hoped she could find what she was looking for. She reached up and grasped the edge of the pull cord firmly; slowly, slowly the creaky attic steps unfolded. She began her ascent slowly, using her hands on the steps in front of her, huffing with each move. She knew her breathlessness was a mix of anticipation, worry, and shame, but she couldn't deny her age either. Halfway through she knew she wasn't going to make it and she leaned awkwardly against the wood railing, the sounds of her gasps echoing through the hallway. She couldn't go up any further but was terrified of trying to climb back down.

_Well…shit. _

Five minutes later, Franny made out the sound of tires coming up the road. When they stopped outside her house, she took a deep breath and began to yell. "Rodney! Rodney! Rodneeeeeey!" She thought perhaps he had gone but eventually front door swung open. "Mrs. Marchland?"

"Over here!"

Rodney appeared just below her, his mailbag slung across his chest, his brown hair matted to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes and mouth both open wide.

"Close that mouth," Franny chastised, "and help an old lady down. I got winded."

Rodney waited until she was seated in a kitchen chair and gulped down half a glass of water before speaking. "I saw the broken glass on your front porch and thought someone had broken a window. Thank goodness I saw that." He shook his eyed and crouched so he was eye level with her. "What in the world were you thinkin'? You could have fallen and hurt yourself! Who would have noticed?"

"You would have, eventually. Thank God I'm only the second house on your route."

"What in the world were you climbing up there for, anyway?"

Franny set her glass down and gave Rodney a pleading gaze. "There is something in that attic that is _very_ important. I know you're not finished with your mail run, but could you get it for me? Please?"

Rodney mused silently. He had never seen the feisty old lady beg for anything; whatever it was she wanted must be terribly important. He set his mailbag on an empty chair and gestured toward the attic. "What do you need?"

Franny couldn't contain her smile while she described a mahogany box with intricate carved flowers and a small latch. "It should be right on top of everything," she yelled to Rodney's retreating back. He gave a wave and disappeared up the steps.

**###**

One of the most infuriating things about Pearlington, at least according to Franny, was that it didn't have a police station. If they couldn't get over to the station in Biloxi, the citizens of Pearlington went to the volunteer fire station in town to file complaints. It was a one-story beige building that looked completely out of place. The lone fire truck sat outside in the driveway; the station didn't even have a proper garage.

Franny stood outside, hands on hips, and shook her head. "Madness," she whispered under her breath.

"Are you sure about this?" Rodney asked her. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and pointed his chin towards the entrance. "You could have just called Mark, you know." Franny scoffed and waved him off. "Mark won't do anything unless I scare him into it. Wait for me here."

Save for the kitchen and bathroom, the firehouse was one large room. The desks were mismatched and several of the chairs were missing their stuffing. On the far left was the largest desk, covered with pile upon pile of newspaper clippings, empty coffee cups, and a pizza box. Mark was sitting behind it, spinning lazily in his office chair, while eating a pizza slice covered with pepperoni and sausage.

"Mark Jones!"

Mark planted his feet on the floor and looked up. Franny didn't know whether to knock him on the ear or laugh at him.

"Mrs. Marchland?"

She was wearing her Sunday best, complete with a Jackie O pillbox hat, and had a smug grin on her face. Mark grinned and got up to greet her.

"What are you doing here? You know you could have just called me if you needed something."

"Yes, well, it's good I decided to come in for a visit. Aren't you supposed to be watching that cholesterol of yours?"

Mark wiped his greasy hands on his pants and grinned sheepishly. "It's just a slice, it won't hurt nothing. Would you like something to drink?" He grabbed a chair from a nearby desk and held her elbow while she eased into the seat. She refused the drink. "So what can I help you with?"

"Mark, I was robbed last night."

Mark straightened up immediately. "Why didn't you call the police sooner?" He picked up his phone and cradled the earpiece between his shoulder and ear while rifling through the papers on his desk. "Are you hurt? Do you need medical assistance?"

"What I need is an APB."

"An APB? Is that your heart medicine?" He frantically gestured to one of the other firefighters in the building. "Fred, run over and get the doc!"

Franny scoffed and threw her hands in the air. "Oh, Mark, don't be such a nitwit! I wouldn't be here if I needed a doctor. Put the phone down."

Mark sighed, placed the phone back on its hook, and motioned for Fred to go back to whatever he was doing.

"So, when you say an APB you actually mean an-"

"All points bulletin. I want every police station in the country to get a description of the little hooligan and hunt him down!"

Mark gulped and leaned forward in his chair. "Jesus, what did he steal from you?"

"A teacup."

"A…You want an APB over a _teacup_?"

"Mark Jones, it wasn't just a teacup. It was my mother's."

Mark didn't look convinced.

"Besides, it's the principle of the thing. Now grab a pen and write this down." Mark rolled his eyes but picked up a pen and listened closely as Franny rattled off a full description of the robber.

"And his name was Jasper. I'm sure you'll find him; that's not a very common name at all, is it?"

"It's likely he used an alias. He's not stupid enough to use his own name."

Franny cackled and slapped her knee. "Oh, that's his name. I guarantee it." She narrowed her eyes. "You _will_ find him, won't you?"

Mark gave a sigh and tapped his pen on the desk. "Look, Mrs. Marchland…"

"How's your mother?" Franny interrupted.

"What?"

"Your mother. How is she?"

"Fine. Why do you ask?"

"She's been asking me over for a while to join her bridge club. I find the game detestable but a little chat wouldn't hurt."

"Mrs. Marchland…"

"Did you ever tell her about the slew of nudie magazines I found under your bed that one time?"

Mark huffed and threw down his pen. "That's low, Franny."

She shrugged. "Whatever works." She stood up slowly and reached over to pat Mark on the shoulder. "It's nice to hear you call me Franny again. You're a good boy, Mark. Would you like a butterscotch?"

Mark shook his head but she was already reaching into her purse.

"Here's two. Save one for after dinner. And walk me out, for heaven's sake. My knees ain't what they used to be."

**###**

Three days passed with no word from Mark. Franny waited until the fourth day to call him but he only sighed and said he had no news. "I sent a notice to all the police stations from here to Montana. I haven't gotten any word yet. We might never find this guy."

"Mark, you have to try harder."

"I'm sorry, Franny, but no one's real concerned about finding a teacup. I've done everything I can."

Franny hung up the phone feeling dejected. She stared at it for a moment feeling the sting of incoming tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

_To hell with this_, she thought. _I'm too old to cry._

**###**

She was hunched over her sink, rinsing her dinner plate, when she heard a light rap at the window. The noise startled her so much she dropped the plate, and gasped as it shattered when it hit the floor.

"Franny, it's me!"

Franny clutched her hand to her chest and used the other to pull back the short café curtains hanging over the window. Jasper was standing outside, peering through the screen. He didn't have a hat on this time, and his blond hair nearly covered all of one eye. "Good evening, ma'am."

"Good evening?" Franny looked around for something to throw at him but just the effort of looking tired her out. She inched her way over to the front door and pulled it open. As she walked to one of the kitchen chairs, she muttered under her breath. "First my pitcher and now my plate. It's like he has a grudge against my dishes."

"Ah, don't forget the teacup I stole from you as well," Jasper joked from the doorway.

Franny felt herself blush. "Yes, well, that must have escaped your recollection."

"I doubt it. I don't forget easily."

"Neither do I." Franny pointed to the door and then the chair across from her. "Won't you come in?"

"No thank you, ma'am. I prefer to stay here."

Franny narrowed her eyes and studied Jasper closely. She observed the way he put effort into the smallest of movements; the twitching of his fingers, the rolling of his weight from heel to toe and back again. _There's something strange about him,_ she thought. _Perhaps I should call Mark and ask if he'll sit in with us._ Suddenly Franny found herself struggling to stay awake.

"Perhaps I should come back some other day."

"No!" Franny fought the sleep. "No, please. _Please_. If I don't get this out now, I may never have another chance."

Jasper took a step back. He fished out his cell phone and took a quick glance at the screen before planting his feet firmly on the porch. "What do you need another chance for, Franny? Why were you trying to find me?"

"Because I didn't tell you everything I know." Franny took a deep breath and then another. Eventually she lifted her chin and pointed towards the small carved box sitting in the middle of the kitchen table. She had left it there in hopes she would have someone to show it to. "That," she paused and shook her head, "That box sat in my attic for 20 years. Before that it sat in a basement in our old house in Gulfport. Before that, it was kept on the second shelf of the hall closet, right next to the Christmas decorations."

"Why is this important?"

"Because before that, dear, it sat on my mother's dresser."

The statement piqued Jasper's curiosity. "I still don't understand. Is it a jewelry box?"

"I'm sure that's what it was a long time ago. All throughout my childhood I thought my momma kept keepsakes in there, the good jewelry." Franny sighed; this time she let the constriction in her chest work its way through. "Jasper, she kept _her diary_ in there. And you need to read it."

"Why?"

"Because someone has to know and you're the only one who's asked in over thirty years. Read it. Now."

"Ma'am, I don't think-"

Franny raised her hand to cut him off. _"Now, _Jasper." Franny used the table as leverage to stand and slowly walked out of the kitchen. She wandered through the living room to the old buffet that smelled like mints and held all the miscellaneous junk she never got around to tossing out. In the bottom drawer, hiding beneath some cloth dinner napkins was a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She carried both things back into the kitchen and didn't even blink an eye when she realized both the journal and Jasper were gone. She had known they would be.

She hadn't smoked since she was pregnant with Lisa, but desperate times called for desperate measures. It took her three tries to flick on the lighter and another moment to get her hands to stop shaking long enough to light the cigarette.

She was on her fourth cigarette when she saw Jasper climbing up the porch steps. His eyes were glued to the small photograph he held in one hand; in the other he held the journal against his chest. When he got to the door, he looked quickly from the photograph to the woman in front of him. For a second, Franny thought he wasn't breathing.

"Do you smoke, Jasper?" She shook the pack of cigarettes at him. "I have a few left."

Jasper shook his head. His phone vibrated in his pocket but he made no move to answer it. "How long have you known?" he finally asked.

"That Mary was my half-sister?" Franny took a long drag and tilted her head back to exhale. She watched the smoke rise for a moment, then chuckled. "I don't know if I've ever said the words out loud before. It's a funny feeling." She clucked her tongue. "I've known since I was seventeen."

"You were told?"

"I found out," she pointed to the journal, "the same way that you did."

Jasper held out the photograph in his hand. "And this?"

"Mary Alice holding me when I was a baby. It was taken in my bedroom by someone, probably my father. He loved cameras."

"Is it the only one you have?"

"It's the only one of her I've ever _seen_."

"She's beautiful." Jasper said it with a reverence that made Franny feel almost giddy.

"I told you she was." Franny let out a booming laugh, then quickly put out her cigarette so ashes didn't fall on the floor. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's come over me." She wiped the tears from her eyes and waited until the giggles dissipated. Jasper smirked at her from over the photograph before sobering up.

"Why did you lie?" He wasn't accusatory, just curious.

"It's second nature. My mother never wanted anyone to talk about Mary."

"Because of the scandal."

Franny slammed her palm down on the table. "My mother wasn't ashamed, Jasper, not one bit. She would have sent everyone to hell if it had changed anything." She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Please, I didn't mean to make you upset."

Franny shook her head. "My mother didn't want people to keep speaking badly of her. She wanted Mary to rest in peace so she never said anything. It wouldn't have changed anything."

"But why are you telling me now?"

"When I die—and that day is coming soon, I bet—there will be no one left who knows the truth. Someone has to. It's not much and I'm sure some of it has been lost or I'm remembering it wrong, but—"

"It's something," Jasper finished.

"It sure is something." Franny squinted at the clock over the stove. It was just after 9pm."What time do you turn into a pumpkin?"

"I need to leave before sunrise."

"Do you have a pen and paper?"

"I have a voice recorder on me, if that's okay."

Franny scoffed. "Technology. Alright, fine."

He took out the recorder and fiddled with it a bit. "I think I'm too far away for it to pick up your voice."

"Then bring it over here."

The silence spanned several moments before Jasper exhaled sharply. He took three large steps and placed the recorder on the edge of the table. He retreated back to the doorway quickly. "It's already on."

"Thank you," Franny smiled with a sense of pride and slid the recorder closer to her. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Franny took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Let me start off by telling you about our mother. Her name was Edith."

* * *

Surprised?

Reviewers get a teaser and a piece of fried chicken.


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